Sans Merci
by Adamantwrites
Summary: Ben Cartwright has aspirations to again run for governor of Nevada but this time, will Adam's scandalous past disrupt his plans? Semi-graphic sex, adult language and subject matter. Violence.
1. Chapter 1

**One**

"Well," Adam said, pulling her closer to him, "why do I need a wife since I have you." he kissed her shoulder and moved his lips up to the back of her neck as she lay, her back to his front, his arms around her, one leg thrown over both of hers.

"You could have children then. Don't you want children, Adam?" She posed the question tentatively, fearing his answer.

"I want only you."

She sighed as Adam tucked his head against her neck, smelling her hair and her skin. He didn't care that she saw other patrons as long as she was available to him whenever he wanted her and she was; she would turn aside other men, to her madam's dismay, if Adam Cartwright showed up and if she was with someone else, she sent him away as quickly as possible and Adam would go to her room and watch as she bathed, washing the other man off of her. The young Chinese girl who served her would stand by with towels for her to wrap about herself and then Adam would rise from the bed and help dry her off. And then she would be his for as long as he liked.

"But Missy Anna," Wi Song would say when Anna had another man requesting her, "man angry. Him say you no see him, him no come back." And Adam would laugh no matter what the other man's ultimatum was and Anna, she would hold onto Adam tighter and tell Wi Song to tell the other man, no. No, she couldn't see him; she was busy. For Anna knew that the other man would always come back even though, deep down, she hoped he wouldn't. Anna would be happy to spend all her time with Adam, serving him, lying under him and catering to all his needs and desires even if it kept her a slave to Lady Bourbon, the madam.

Lady Bourbon, the name the brothel owner took to keep her actual name untainted, didn't want to alienate Adam Cartwright. He bought champagne and not the cheap bottles either, but the best champagne she had in the cellar. And he tipped well, not just the people who brought up the champagne, but Anna. When Lady Bourbon found out how well the rich dam Cartwright tipped, often leaving Anna as much as five silver dollars, she demanded a cut. Anna protested—the money Adam left her was for her and her alone—Adam said so, told to spend it on herself or—in a what Anna took as a snide comment, for her old age; she and Adam both knew that in another few years she'd have to fall on her back for a mere dollar having aged out of the business.

Miss Bourbon gave Anna an ultimatum: Either Anna gave Miss Bourbon 60% or she would have to rush through Adam Cartwright's time with her in order to make up the money lost by turning others away. If Anna didn't agree, well, although she was a valuable whore, there were always girls needing work.

Anna had been furious and shook with anger and fear—fear because Lady Bourbon's place was the best and cleanest brothel within the town's limits. If Anna had to find another house, her choices were only the cheaper ones where men were given only twenty minutes to complete their business before another man stood waiting outside the door, impatiently pounding. And a girl never knew what type of man she would entertain in sleazy places like that—and in what manner he required. Many a girl was left sobbing or groaning in pain—or even dead.

Besides, Anna had considered, she loved Adam Cartwright—as foolish as she knew that was—and he wouldn't go to one of the seamier places with fleas and unwashed sheets. He would just find someone else. So Anna agreed to her boss' terms.

"But Missy Anna," Wi Song would plead as other men waited to see her, "him angry. Him say you no see him, him no come back." And Adam would laugh no matter what the other man's ultimatum was and Anna, she would hold onto Adam tighter and order Wi Song to tell the other man, no. No, she couldn't see him; she was busy. For Anna knew that the men would always come back even though, deep down, she hoped they wouldn't. Anna would be happy to spend all her time with Adam, serving him, lying under him and catering to all his needs and desires.

But tonight, she was sad. Adam was late, later than his usual time on Fridays and she was mad with anxiety. She sent Wi Song out to the porch to watch for "Mistah Cartwright" and to come tell her when she saw him coming. But Wi Song didn't come up to her door despite Anna's mumbled, desperate prayers. Anna waited, rocking herself with her arms wrapped about her, as she sat in the plush, oversized chair in her room, her knees drawn, clothed in a silk wrapper with Chinese embroidery. Adam had given it to her. It had chrysanthemums and butterflies embroidered on the pale-yellow silk and Wi Song had told her that in China, chrysanthemums were luck for a happy marriage. She told Missy Anna that it was a wedding robe. But Anna never told Adam; she knew that he would only make a joke about her wearing such a piece of clothing and say that maybe one of her "patrons' would propose. Adam had no idea how very much she loved him and Anna knew that she couldn't tell him, wouldn't tell him, because he might then never see her again and that she wouldn't be able to bear.

Anna rose from the chair and began to pace as she felt the panic rising inside her. Why hadn't he arrived yet? Adam wasn't going to come that night—or any night, she told herself. But no, he had been late once before and still shown. And he would show—she knew he would. But in the back of her mind, she was worried about the other woman, the widow with the daughter. They might be keeping Adam away.

Anna had been at the milliner's last week and heard two of the sales girls gossiping about Adam Cartwright and a young, lovely widow; it was rumored that he was about to ask her to marry him. After all, the girls giggled to one another, he escorted her everywhere and if that wasn't enough to seal it, he spent just about every evening at her house.

"Does he stay really late?" one girl asked the other. It would be cause for scandal if he did. To the two young sales girls, Adam Cartwright was dark, handsome and mysterious and they could just imagine how he would be in bed with a woman. If he stayed late at the young widow's, they conjectured, it could be that he tumbled her before returning home to the Ponderosa.

"No, at least that's not what Tom told me. He says that from the bunkhouse they can hear when he leaves the Running D and he's usually gone by 8:30, 9:00. But he eats dinner there just about every evening.

"Well, I heard…" And then, Madam Pierre who owned the shop came out from the back with a new hat for Anna to try and chastised the two sales girls for gossiping. "Get back to work. Vite!"

Anna had also heard that Adam escorted the young widow and her daughter to church so that past Sunday, Anna had slipped into the back pew after services had begun and her throat closed when she spotted Adam sitting next to the lovely, small woman with blond, wavy hair and a stylish hat perched upon it. And during the services, Adam bent down to speak to a child, the young girl. Anna knew she should leave the church for the scene only caused her pain-but she couldn't. So she looked at the back of Adam's head, at his black glossy hair and the warm, mossy spot at the nape of his neck where the hair curled and where she liked to press her nose as he slept on his side with his back to her. He smelled so wonderful and warm. And she ached to be sitting beside him in church, to slip her arm through his and to stand and sing the Psalms with him and hear his deep, rich voice. But that, she knew, would be impossible so she slipped out of the church before the end of services.

And as Anna waited for him to arrive, she couldn't help but fear that Adam was with the pretty, young widow, eating Friday dinner with her, laughing with her, kissing her and then dandling the little girl on his knee; a family image. Anna felt an agonizing longing rise within her. And then she heard feet on the stairs, little running steps and Wi Song burst into the room.

"He coming! Mistah Adam riding up street!"

Anna collapsed on the chair, drained by her fears. But Adam would soon be here and her heart sang with anticipation of seeing his body fill the door frame.

She breathed deeply until her anxiety was under control. She needed to appear calm, to seem as if she had been quietly passing the time, not really concerned about his showing. She went to the open window and felt the cool air on her bare throat.

"Sorry I'm late."

She whirled around when she heard Adam's deep voice. "What?"

He came toward her, tossing his hat on the vanity. He slowly repeated, "I said, I'm sorry I'm late." He put his arms around her, pulling her next to him and clasping her buttocks through the silk. He lingeringly kissed her, his mouth moving on hers. Then he stopped with one last pull at her mouth, and looked at Wi Song who watched, grinning. "And you," he said to her, grinning back. "Why'd you take off running when you saw me? Did you have to warn Missy Anna that I was here?"

"No, no. Missy Anna send me to watch, see if you coming."

"Oh, really?" Adam looked at Anna with a quizzical expression. "Did you have to sneak another man out the window?'

"Don't be silly," Anna said, pulling away. "I just wanted…" But she didn't know what to say. How could she tell him that she was afraid that he was in love with the young widow and that he was going to marry the lovely blonde and give her up? She couldn't. She had no right to be possessive, especially since she lay with other men. But for her, the other men were merely business-no one else touched her emotions.

"Hey," he said as he reached for Anna again. "I'll always show up unless I tell you otherwise. Either that or I'll be dead and buried."

Her heart lifted; her fear had been for nothing.

"Wi Song," he said, pointing at the girl, "you need to leave. You're far too young to see what I'm going to do to Missy Anna."

Wi Song looked to her mistress. With other clients, she usually stayed in the room to help retrieve anything for her mistress and her client; some of them had strange requests, and she also stayed to learn the trade. Lady Bourbon had told Wi Song that when she became old enough, she could work as well and start to earn money.

"Go on, Wi Song," Anna said. "Go to your room. I'll ring for you if I need you." So Wi Song bowed and backed out of the room.

"Wait," Adam said, "here." And he tossed a silver coin which Wi Song eagerly caught.

"Oh, thank you, Mistah Adam! Thank you!" And the girl closed the door behind her.

"Now," he said, "let's take care of each other. I have been waiting all day for night to fall so that I could see you." He reached down and untied the silk belt that held Anna's wrapper shut and then pushed the robe off her shoulders and it fell to the floor, puddling around her feet. "Let me look at you." He stepped back and admired Anna. To him, she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. It wasn't just that she was beautiful, and she was that, but it was the way she moved and her intelligence and humor. Adam adored her and yet, he knew she took other men, that she put her mouth on them and spread her shapely legs for them as well. But he tried not to think about those things. And yet sometimes when he was sitting at the widow's playing an innocuous game of cribbage or he was reading a book to her daughter, Adam would suddenly wonder if Anna was pleasing a man and if she was, who he was. Adam had always wanted to ask Anna who else she saw but then decided he didn't want to know; if he saw the men on the street or knew the man, he wasn't sure what he would do, how he would behave. The only thing he had ever said to Anna was that she wasn't to take his father or brothers. Besides, Anna was discreet and wouldn't have told him her other clients anyway and then he would have just given himself away, let her know that he was jealous and wanted her to himself.

Granted, in Lady Bourbon's small house, Anna had some say in who she took as clientele and the ability to turn a man away if his wants were too extreme. But between the five women who worked in the house, there was usually one of the other four girls who had no qualms about performing any act, no matter how unclean or repulsive. There was a girl for everyone but Lady Bourbon's girls were special—all beautiful, all talented and most important, all clean. And although Anna never cared for acts of perversion, had Adam wanted them performed, she would have done so just so he wouldn't go to someone else.

But here and now, they were just a man and a woman who wanted and needed one another so they could be who they really were, to be unashamedly naked, not just physically, but in their emotions, in their gaze and in their eagerness to see each other and who they really were with no artifice and no pretense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

"Come to me," Adam said, almost in a whisper and Anna readily moved into his open arms. They rolled over the bed, their lips finding one another's. They grappled with each other, not for dominance or position, but with desire and a hunger they could only slake with their bodies. This intensity of Anna 's feelings was only for Adam—only for him. No one else moved her, touched her deeply within but him.

Their mouths went everywhere, kissing and tonguing and biting, their hands caressing and stroking until finally their bodies joined as he moved in the instinctual, undulating wave-like motion. Anna gasped at the first thrust, her legs locked about his waist, but she soon moved in unison with Adam's body, a slight slapping sound smothered by her cries of pleasure. She had waited so long for him—and now he was here so she arched her back to allow him to fill her completely, to fill her heart as well. Finally, after a deep groan of release from him, Anna lay on her back, breathing heavily, her legs dropping away to his sides. Adam raised himself on his elbows and held her face with both hands.

"Tell me," Adam whispered, "tell me, my beauty, what it is you want."

"Oh, please, Adam-I just want…I can't…" She wanted to say he was all she wanted, all she required to live, to cry out her love for him, but she bit her lip; if she outright told him that she wanted to marry him, to be his wife, he would more than likely laugh, call her foolish, and then dress quickly and leave. Anna felt she would die if he laughed after she had exposed herself more than when she stripped off all her clothes and opened her legs to please him.

"You can't what? There's not much you can't do. Just tell me. If I left, unable to return to you anymore…"

"No." She pressed one hand against his lips, willing him to hush but he gently pulled it away.

"Anna, we can't go on like this forever—it's got to end sometime. If I never came back—couldn't—what would you need to make you happy?"

"You make me happy!" She clutched at his upper arms, feeling the hard muscles under the flesh. "Oh please, just…" She slipped a hand around Adam's neck and then, raising herself, slipped her arms about his neck, willed his mouth down to hers. They kissed and then he dropped his head on her breasts, slipping his arms about her. The two lay quietly after having earlier spent themselves and Anna ran her fingers through Adam's thick hair and teased the curls at the nape of his neck.

She needed to know if he was going to marry the young widow. Anna knew the pain it would cause her but, she considered, a stab through the heart—a quick merciful end—was far better than the torment she went through every evening as she tried to sleep, fearing that each day she would read the banns in the Territorial Enterprise announcing Adam's wedding. Not knowing, she felt, was worse—far worse than the truth. She decided that now, while she wasn't looking him in the face nor he in hers, was the best time to ask. Her face would reveal her feelings and even if it didn't, he was good at reading her.

"What you asked me—about what would make me happy…is there something I could do to make you happier?"

"I'm already happy the way things are." He settled his head again after raising it to glance at her face.

"I was just wondering if you were planning on marrying anytime soon."

"Oh." Adam sighed deeply and rolled off her to lay on his back. "What have you heard, Anna? No, let me guess."

Anna sat up and pulled the sheet up to under her arms. "I haven't heard anything. I was just thinking that you've been coming here for over a year now. Most men who…well, most men your age are married and they just-come to another woman like me because they want something their wife can't or won't give them. But they don't love the whore they see and they have another life with their families." She waited and watched. His face was set and she knew that he had caught on to her.

Adam raised himself on one elbow and studied her for a moment. "Okay, Anna. Don't make excuses and don't lie to me. I assume you know that I've been squiring a young widow, seeing her regularly."

"Yes." She dropped her gaze; she was ashamed at her attempt to be devious.

"And you want to know if I'm going to marry her." Anna nodded. She felt like a young schoolgirl who had a crush on a boy who pulled the pigtails of another girl, who pushed the other girl while on the playground swing, laughing at her delight, but who pulled Anna behind the schoolhouse for a covert kiss and to feel under her skirts.

Adam sat up, resting his back against the headboard. "It's really none of your business what I do outside this room. Did you think that you were the only woman I spoke with, that I haven't asked other women to dances or church socials all this time? Did you?"

"No, I…" Anna shook her head and wished that she had never asked him about the widow; it had opened up avenues she dreaded going down. "I never assumed you were…that you didn't seek the company of other women. I mean, I know you can't escort me to dances and socials…" She forced a fey smile. "Besides, I'm usually working."

Anna was usually working, pleasing another man, but with the windows open, she could often hear the music from the church socials and when there was a street party, the laughter and music brought her close to tears. Her favorite daydream was of Adam taking her to a church social. She would be dressed tastefully but expensively and he would be proud to have her on his arm. They would be the envy of everyone, the most beautiful couple there. She knew it was just daydream that would never be a reality, but it helped her get through the long hours.

"Good," Adam said. "I don't ask you what man you spread your legs for before I got here-or after. I don't need to know who you fuck other than me. I know you do but it's just something that's a fact of life. You need to accept that I have a life outside this room and that it's none of your business."

Anna wanted to be offended by the way he spoke to her, to take umbrage and tell him to leave, to scream that he didn't ask because he didn't care-but then he would leave, would quickly dress and go and probably never return and that thought was too horrible for her to consider.

"It's just that…I just wondered if the rumor that you were going to marry her is true, that's all."

"Why? Are you expecting an invitation? To be maid of honor?" And then Adam saw her face and the pain she felt at his cruel comment. He pulled her to him and held her against him. He stroked her thick, dark hair. "I'm sorry, Anna. I was feeling mean and guilty-I shouldn't have said those things. Forgive me."

Anna kissed his chest and slightly pulled away. "There's nothing to forgive. You're right, of course. What you do is none of my business. It's not as if you can take me to church or invite me to a dance at the Ponderosa. I know my place in your life-in the world as well, but I also enjoy our…" Anna searched for a word that would do, "our friendship and the times that you're here." And she touched his cheek. "Like sandpaper," she said with short laugh. "I always have sore cheeks in the morning after being with you."

"Next time, I'll shave right before I come." And they smiled at each other. He said "next time," Anna noted and fell against his chest as Adam held her close again.

"Monday I'm leaving on a trip with my father—he's meeting with some political backers-and I'll be gone about two weeks." He felt Anna stiffen in his arms but he only held her tighter, resting his cheek against her hair. "I'll miss you, Anna. I honestly will. You are dear to me."

She couldn't respond—her throat was too thick with unshed tears; Adam could be cruel one minute, breaking her heart, and then making her feel beloved the next. Two weeks. Adam would be gone two weeks. A lifetime.

~ 0 ~

"There. There she is—hanging out clothes. Laura Dayton. Now can we go?"

The two women sat in a small buggy they had rented from the livery in Virginia City.

"Do you think she's prettier than I am?" Anna wanted to get closer but Linda would only park in a nearby strand of trees.

"It doesn't matter if you're prettier or not. She's respectable. That's all. Besides, she owns that ranch, the Running D. Now her husband's died, she doesn't need to work to survive, could sell that ranch for few thousand. Hell, if it were me, I'd never marry again—never fall on my back for another man—ever. The hell with them and their appetites."

Anna heard Linda but didn't listen to her tirade against men. "Can't we get a little closer?"

"She'll see us watching her. If she gets curious and tells Adam Cartwright, he'll know it was you; he might even slap you around to get a confession and then not come back. Men don't like whores who are interested in their private lives. You best be careful."

"Look, there's her daughter." Anna stood up in the buggy and craned her head in order to get a better look at the child. A little blonde just like her mother. "Oh…she's cute. I used to skip like that when I was a kid."

"We all did. We were all children once. Hard to believe we were ever innocent, ever a virgin." Linda chuckled. "Look, Anna, you're just making yourself miserable. If Adam Cartwright is going to marry her, he will. There's not much you can do about it except hope and pray the pretty little Widow Dayton either backs out or drops dead."

"I want to speak to her."

"You're crazy. You can't do that."

"Please! We can say we're lost and ask for directions. Please!"

"For directions where? The Ponderosa?" Linda said derisively. "Look, I came out here with you, got up early and lost sleep to do it. You saw Widow Dayton and her daughter. Now let's go back. Besides, it's almost noon and I want to get out of the sun. Damn hot."

"Oh please?"

Linda looked at Anna with sympathy. Anna was young and impressionable and had fallen in love with a patron—the handsome Adam Cartwright, the scion of the wealthiest and most influential family in almost all of Nevada. Anna had committed the most egregious error a whore could—ever. Anna had given her heart instead of just her body.

"All right. We'll just ask directions." Linda pulled the buggy back out on the road, well-worn with grooves from passing wagons, and stopped near the clothesline. Anna looked at Linda who shook her head; she disapproved. "This is a bad idea, Anna."

"I'll just quickly ask. I promise." Anna gathered her skirts with one hand after closing her parasol, and stepped down. She would have to walk across a stretch of property of 50 yards or so.

Laura Dayton paused in hanging up clothes, a child's dress in her hand. She waited while the woman approached her with a gentle smile. The woman was young, maybe 22 or 23, Laura determined, a few years younger than herself, but more beautiful. Her hair was dark and piled up in curls, topped by a fashionable hat with a plaid ribbon as decoration. She wore rouge on her cheeks and lips and Laura wondered what Adam would say if she touched up her lips and cheeks with a bit of rouge. Adam could be so hurtful under the guise of joking. He would probably make some comment about her looking like a "painted woman," like the golden-haired whores in the Bible. Next thing, she would pierce her ears. Where would it all end? Besides Adam's remarks, Laura considered, it would be too embarrassing to pay for the jar at the mercantilist's. It would start rumors about her, Laura knew. People would say she was turning into a tart in order to keep Adam Cartwright interested.

Even as a wife, a year after Peggy was born, Laura stuttered and stammered with embarrassment asking her doctor in Carson City for a "pessary preventif". She had to suffer a lecture about the role of a wife. Did she not know that it was her duty to comply with her husband's sexual demands and to give him as many children as she could? Nevertheless, her doctor finally gave her what she asked after Laura lying, said that when she had given birth to Peggy in Sacramento, that doctor had told her that another child might cause her irreparable internal damage. Laura had decided that after giving Adam the obligatory child, she would employ the pessary again.

But a bit of rouge might stir her into feeling more risqué, more responsive to Adam's hungry mouth on hers. Laura found herself envious of the beauty before her, the young woman was full and lush—just the type, she was sure, over whom Adam would lust and sweat.

"Can I help you?" Laura asked. Her daughter stood next to her.

"I hope so. My friend and I are lost. We've come from Carson City and are trying to get to Virginia City but somehow, I think we made a turn—well, a turn we shouldn't have. Could you direct us?" Anna's heart thumped in her chest. The young widow was lovely—slender and with soft golden hair that fell in waves about her face.

"You're pretty," the child said to Anna.

"Why thank you," Anna said, blushing at the innocent compliment.

"Peggy," Laura said, "it's rude to comment on a person's appearance." Laura noted that the woman also had piercings in her ears and wore dangling pearls. She came to the conclusion that despite the woman's subdued and stylish clothing, she was a "soiled dove," a woman gone bad.

"Oh, that's all right." Anna smiled at the little girl, Peggy, and said, "You're pretty too."

"If you're going to Virginia City," Laura said brusquely, "You need to turn around and go the way you came. There's a sign at the crossroads that will direct you. You must have seen it. It also points the way to the Ponderosa."

"Oh…" Anna paused. Her mouth was so dry her lips stuck to her teeth. "Thank you. We may have been talking, my friend and I, and not've noticed." Anna smiled at Peggy. "It was nice to meet you, Peggy. And thank you for your help," she said to Laura Dayton.

"Wait," Peggy said, running after her a few steps.

"Yes?" Anna stopped.

"You didn't tell me your name."

Laura stared to chastise Peggy for her boldness but didn't; she wanted to know the woman's name as well.

"Anna." And she smiled to stave off her tears. Immediately she realized she should have lied, should have made up some other name. If Laura mentioned it to Adam, he would be furious with her. But it was too late now. Too late now. And as she walked back to the buggy, she silently cried.


	3. Chapter 3

I know that many people prefer stories that remain within the canon and depending on how far away from canon they go, I can be of like mind. Anyway, I am always reminded of this quote by Pernell Roberts that I found in a post about an article:

 _Roberts turned up in Washington DC in George Bernard Shaw's Captain Brassbound's Conversion with Ingrid Bergman. Commenting on the play's characters, Roberts told reporter Richard Lebherz, "They're not people. They are without sexuality, without passion. Just dolls. It's true of so many kinds of drama and plays. That's why I have trouble relating to the profession because it isn't relevant. Very seldom is it, anymore." By then, his greatest joy was overseas travel._

I like to think that the C's had passion and sexuality but in the 60's and 70's, it couldn't be expressed or shown on TV (although they did suggest marital rape and the resulting frigidity in the episode, "The Waiting Game.") In writing short stories, we can explore the C's subdued sexuality.

 **Three**

Adam sipped what he knew was expensive brandy; the flavor was rich.

"I admire your taste," Adam said to their host, Frank Hogan. "To quote Samuel Johnson, 'Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy'."

The two other men, Adam's father, Ben Cartwright and Hogan, laughed amiably.

"Let me make a toast to the man who I hope will become the hero of Nevada—Ben Cartwright!"

"I'll drink to that," Adam said and he raised his glass while Hogan followed suit.

Ben flushed. He still wasn't comfortable with all the laudation his supporters gave him. Since his first aborted run for governor six years earlier, Ben hadn't considered running again. But as the election had neared, more and more people asked him to run, said the hoped he would run since he well understood what the state needed, what the people who populated this unique territory required. It was scrub desert in some areas and then, there was the snow-topped Sierra Nevada mountain range that held treasures waiting to be found. Here was Pyramid Lake and Lake Tahoe and all the rivers that connected them. The territory was a paradise and the people who lived there didn't want to see it despoiled by those who only sought profit, only wanted to fill their private coffers by raping the land and to leave behind a wasteland. So Ben felt the call and announced he would run.

"Thank you, Frank. I…I was humbled tonight by the wonderful things you said about me. I hope that those in attendance didn't think I had made any political promises so that you would speak so effusively about my qualities."

"It wouldn't matter, Ben. Those men are friends of mine and we all think alike—all of us in the southern section of Nevada. We have the area basically divided among us and since I have the largest section…"

"You make it sound like a pie," Adam said. He released a cloud of smoke from the cigar he was smoking. It was one of finest he had ever smoked. Frank Hogan had expensive tastes and the money to buy what he desired—whatever or whomever he desired-and the influence to sway many others to his way of thinking. In southern Nevada, he basically ruled and had for many years, building up a ranch that rivaled the Ponderosa. It was for those very reasons that Adam felt Hogan's support of his father's campaign was suspect.

"In a way it is, Adam. Your father understands that. I would think you would too. Owning 1,00 square acres of land makes your family powerful. But there is a war going on and all of us know that people are making money from it. War is good for business and I'm in contact with people who have the foresight to know that after the war, this area will become a state this year and if your father's the governor he can have a hand in guiding the manufacturing that will move here—encourage it. I can see all of us buying more and more of the state and then we can sell the land to the railroad lines and eastern companies that need our resources to expand. Why we'll be richer than Croesus!"

Adam and his father exchanged looks. It seemed that liquor had loosened Frank Hogan's tongue and his eyes glittered in the lamplight.

"Don't you see what this means, Ben? We're sitting on the most coveted resource of all and oil's been found in Texas. There may even be some in this par of the state. Oil! That's going to become the new fuel—it'll take over steam!"

"So I've read," Adam said, and the two older men looked at him as he sat back in the chair, drawing on his cigar. "But steam is easily got. Oil? Now that's a different story."

"It's possible there's even oil under the Ponderosa. You telling me, Adam, that you don't care?"

Ben cleared his throat. "I have a vested interest in what happens next and so do you, Frank," he said quietly. "I think we can work together to protect the sanctity of this territory. And I use the term 'sanctity' intentionally. I didn't buy my land just to fill my pockets out of avarice, but because I was determined to keep the area an 'Eden' of a type. Adam's mother and I used to speak of the west as the promised land, as the land that God gave to mankind and we are only the stewards. I can't see corrupting it for any reason. We don't want what happened in Deadwood to happen anywhere here, to have a silver smelting plant that belches out brimstone like Hell itself!"

Ben Cartwright put his brandy snifter down and stood. Adam knew they would soon be leaving so he up-ended his glass and took the last of the rich, golden brandy. Hs father didn't care for Hogan—never really had. A few years ago, Hogan tried to start a price war for beef, said he could deliver cattle faster to Abilene than the Cartwrights could. Hogan did. But his cattle had the fat almost run off them since they had been moved so quickly. But since Hogan's cattle were in the stockyards first, the price for beef dropped when the Ponderosa cattle finally arrived. Ben swore it was all just for spitefulness.

Nevertheless, Adam and Ben had determined, to have Hogan's support was important. His money wasn't needed but if he backed Van Cosgrove for governor, most of the people in the southern part of the territory would as well. He was the biggest employer and many families relied on him for their livelihood and to fill the mouths of their children. He also would personally see each and every able-bodied man would cast a vote.

"Frank, this territory is going to become valuable after the war—more valuable than it is now. Why if the North wins, the gold and silver we produce will support the government. And we can't divide the riches of the state among only a few. If we want to draw more people out west…"

Frank Hogan slammed his fist on the arm of the leather chair and stood up. "That's just it, Ben! Let California be flooded with people—not Nevada! This territory can be our own promise land. We managed to rid ourselves of most of the Indians but it wasn't to be swamped with people from the other side of the country—you can't think that's what the people of Nevada want!"

"It's obvious it's not what you want, Mr. Hogan," Adam said quietly. Both his father and Frank Hogan looked at him.. "I know my father and his motives for running for governor are pure. He wants to see that when Nevada becomes a state, it shines and that there's a good living to be had for everyone who moves here—not just the few.

"Earlier this evening, you called any newcomers parvenus—but aren't we all? You, my father and just about every big rancher. None of you came from money but made yourself who you are. And as for what 'power' the governor would have, are you familiar with how limited it is? But my father was cut from the same mold as you and there's many a time we had to fight to retain all that's ours; we broke our backs to build what we have and we're not willing to give it away.

"But we're also not willing to divide the territory into four large kingdoms, metaphorically speaking—the Ponderosa, the Long Bar in the northeast, the Broken T in the middle and here, your ranch, the Honor. People are what makes a state and it's voters who elect the governor."

"You have quite the mouth on you, boy!" Hogan stood straight and threw his shoulders back.

"I think the same as my son. We have to share the state's bounty and I'm even considering selling off parts of the Ponderosa. People are coming to the west, some to escape war, and I think we should make them welcome."

"On that we disagree. I'm afraid I can't support you, Ben," Hogan coldly said. "You and Adam are welcome to stay another night but I won't see you off in the morning; I have to send wires. I'm throwing my support behind Cosgrove. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Adam stood as Hogan headed for the doorway.

"I think we'll leave tonight," Ben said. "But thank you for your hospitality."

"Suit yourself," Hogan said and walked out.

Adam sighed. "Sorry, Pa. Hope I didn't spoil things by what I said."

"No, no, Adam," Ben said, putting a hand on Adam's shoulder and smiling wanly. "You said what I think and probably said it better. I'm sorry I said we'd leave tonight. We both could use a good night's sleep after all that glad-handing tonight. I swear Hogan must've invited every influential man for a hundred miles or so."

"Well, I don't mind leaving although that bed is mighty comfortable. I want to get back anyway." Adam tossed the rest of the cigar in the fireplace. The night was surprisingly chilly, fall was on its way.

"I imagine Laura and Peggy will be glad to see you back as well. You can't keep expecting Will to take over for you."

Adam chuckled. "I guess not but he seems to enjoy doing things for Laura. I'd worry but…" Adam was going to say that he didn't care that much and surprised himself with the unspoken thought. Did he care? He wasn't sure but he did miss them. And then he thought of Anna. He would have to tell her soon that he couldn't patronize her anymore—had tried before he left…he would just have to tell her goodbye. But he missed Anna as he always did whenever he traveled on business. Maybe next time he'd take her along with him, pay Lady Bourbon a few hundred to make up business lost with Anna's absence and keep her with him and tell her then; the wedding wasn't until summer—June. Here'd be time.

"Let's go pack," Ben said. "We can make it to Goldfield for the morning stage; we'll sleep then."

~ 0 ~

"Man waiting. Let in?"

"Just a moment, Wi Song." Anna looked at herself in the mirror. She adjusted the left garter and then turned sideways and admired the turn of her ankle in the high-heeled slippers. She wore short bloomers and a bustier which thrust her breasts up and out over the lace edge. Then she reached for a red satin robe and slipped it on, loosely tying the sash. "Let him in now."

It was early evening and most men came under the cover of darkness. It was unusual to host a man this early but perhaps he had a stage to catch. It didn't matter anyway. She was just going through the familiar motions.

Anna stood seductively while Wi Song opened the door and a tall, well-dressed, handsome man with a clipped black mustache strolled in. He smiled when he saw her and removed his hat, handing it off to Wi Song without taking his eyes off Anna.

Hello," Anna said, smiling. "I'm Anna, what would you like?" She never asked a man for his name although she knew the names of her regulars whether they ever gave it or not.

"First, to look at you. Would you…" He motioned for her to open the robe and she let the sash open and stood revealed.

He let out a whistle of appreciation. "You are a beauty, that's for sure."

"Would you like a drink?" Anna asked.

"What would you recommend?" He continued to smile and Anna saw something slightly familiar but she couldn't determine what that was.

"We have some nice champagne. I can send my girl for it if you like."

"Champagne, it is."

"That be three dolla'," Wi Song said.

The man laughed and fished some coins out of his pocket handing the money to Wi Song who smiling, took off for the downstairs. Miss Anna's men always purchased champagne—anything to please her so she would please them.

Anna smiled and walked over to the man. He smelled of Bay Rum. She ran her hands under his jacket and slipped it off his shoulders. He had a powerful build—broad shoulders and a broad chest. Her mind went to Adam; he was built the same way with powerful arms. Anna dropped the jacket over a chair. She didn't want to entertain this man—he made her think of Adam, reminded her of his absence more sharply. But he was a customer and she was for hire. It was a job and so far, it had allowed her bank a tidy sum of money.

"Do you need help undressing?" she asked, looking seductively under her dark lashes.

"No, no help at all." He reached for Anna and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. She began to feel anxious and pulled away. She stepped back. "I do have to admire his taste in women," The man said

"Who?" she asked harshly already knowing the answer.

"Why Adam, of course."

Anna pulled her robe closed and this time knotted the sash.

"Who are you?" Suddenly she knew. Adam had mentioned months ago that a long-lost cousin had shown. "You're Adam's cousin…" The name wouldn't come to her.

"Will. His cousin Will."

"You need to leave. I won't be with any member of Adam's family."

"Now that's honorable, I suppose. I'm a little surprised though. Mt money's as good as his."

"What do you want with me?"

He laughed. "Seeing where we are, I'd think you'd know. But actually, that's not why I'm here but now that I've seen you in your finery…" Will laughed again—she looked terrified, like a frightened girl. "Don't worry. Your questionable virtue is safe."

Wi Song came grinning into the room with a bottle of champagne. Two glasses were already set out on the dresser.

"Here champagne. Give to you?" she asked Will.

"Well, I paid for it so I suppose so." Wi Song stood and then Will dug in his pocket for a nickel and handed it to her. "Now we would like to talk—privately-so you just leave, okay?"

Wi Song looked to Anna. She was puzzled as Miss Anna was dressed more modestly than before she left. "Okay I go, Missy Anna?"

"Yes. Wait in the hall."

Wi Song left, slowly closing the door behind her. Once in the hall, she pressed her ear to the door. If the man became violent, she would know and get Big Saul. He would come up and drag the man out by his hair and toss him in the street ordering him not to return.

"Now tell me what you want. Why come to me?" Anna asked.

"I'm here because you were out at Mrs. Dayton's the other day, weren't you?" Will didn't smile anymore. He popped the cork of the champagne bottle and poured himself a glass. "Champagne?" he asked Anna. She shook her head no. Will sat and sipped his champagne, surprised at how good it was but then, he had been told that this was the finest house in Virginia City, arguably the finest from here to Sacramento City. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Anna considered before answering. She decided she needed to feel out how much the man knew. "Why do you think it's me? And why would I go there? Who is she?"

"All right, I'll tell you. We'll both pretend you don't know anything. Last evening I was driving Mrs. Dayton and her daughter back home from dinner and she said that something odd had happened; two women were in a buggy and one of them who said her name was Anna, pretended to be lost."

"Pretended?"

"Yes—pretended. Mrs. Dayton noticed that the buggy had the name of the Livery in Virginia City but the woman said they were from Carson City. That's why she thought it was odd. I did too. So, Mrs. Dayton described the woman and I see she's you. She described you to a T." Will waited but Anna said nothing so he continued. "I told her not to worry and made a joke about no woman I ever knew having a sense of direction but it made me think. So, I decided to find out if there was any…danger. I mean Mrs. Dayton is a widow and lives there alone with her daughter. Maybe someone was trying to determine if there was a man about for a group of thieves or something worse. After all, Mrs. Dayton is a lovely woman—downright beautiful.

"Anyway, I came to town, ordered a beer at the Bucket of Blood and asked the barkeep if he knew of a whore named Anna. He named this place and warned me to have quite a bit of money in my pocket. Apparently, you have a reputation of only taking elite customers.

"I'm guessing you wanted to see who Adam is marrying, wanted to see who he prefers over you-at least I hope it's just innocent curiosity. Is it more sinister, Anna? Are you planning her any harm or is anyone else?" Will poured himself more champagne and waited while Anna walked over to the window and looked out on the street.

The brothel was a well-kept house with a paved walkway and roses climbing an arched trellis. Anyone walking by would think it was the home of a banker perhaps, or a doctor—someone respectable. Anna understood the contradiction between the façade and what actually happened inside the rooms and if she didn't, Adam had once mentioned it. He said that if there was a porch swing, it would seem as if he was courting a young woman.

Without turning to face him, Anna said, "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Cartwright. Mrs. Dayton must be confused. Or you are."

"I see," Will said. He stood up and placed the glass on the small table in the room. It had a lace doily on it and Will noted how welcoming the room was—just not Anna. "Well, you can deny all you like, but I know it was you." He waited to see what she would say but Anna still stood, her arms crossed, looking out the window. "Leave Mrs. Dayton alone. I'll keep what I know to myself—I won't mention you to Mrs. Dayton or even to Adam; I don't want to make trouble but that's only if you don't make trouble between my cousin and Mrs. Dayton.

"He'll drop you, you know. Once he marries Laura, he'll have no need of you anymore and I think so highly of Mrs. Dayton that I will ruin you if you pose a threat to her. I hope we understand each other."

Anna was having difficulty taking a deep breath and feared the man could see her trembling. If he could, she noted, he didn't comment on it, didn't say anything else. She heard his footsteps on the carpet and then the wood floor. The door opened and she heard him walk out; she never heard the light steps of Wi Song.

"Missy Anna all right?"

Anna jumped at the sound but composed herself before she answered. "Yes, Wi Song, I'm fine."

"Mister leave two dolla'—silver coin."

Anna still stared out the window. Will Cartwright came into view and she watched him as he followed the walkway to the street.

"Take a dollar, Wi Song. Go buy what you like at the mercantile. And tell Miss Melinda I have a headache. Tell her I'm taking some laudanum and will be asleep and not to send up anyone tonight. Understand? Take the other dollar to give to her."

"Yes, Missy. Understand. Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

Anna paced nervously up and down the flowered carpet in her room. She glanced down at the pearl ring on her right hand. The gold glistened as a wedding band would. Adam had bought it for her on the campaign trip with his father. ("I hope it fits one of your fingers. I wasn't sure what size.") Adam had lifted her hand and tenderly kissed it but he had laughed at her excitement in unwrapping the little box but she hated to take off the little cord that kept on the green-flowered printed paper.

It seemed to Adam, as he watched Anna's delight, that she was happier to have received her gift than Laura had been at receiving the wide wedding band he had bought her. But then Laura wouldn't be able to wear her ring for another few months; she wouldn't even try it on—afraid it would bring bad luck.

Anna didn't mention Will having paid her a visit nor did Adam bring up the debacle; Will kept his word. But the whole visit, Anna had to resist bringing up the lovely widow, struggling with herself. There was so much she wanted to know and she wished she had never seen the woman, wished she had never gone out there; it just made everything more real. That night, Adam couldn't stay long and when he rose to dress, Anna, slipping on the yellow embroidered robe, practically clung to him.

"I wish you'd stay longer," Anna said as she reached up to touch his hair, the wavy black locks. One had fallen like a comma over his forehead and she pushed it back into place.

"I can't. I have somewhere else to be." Adam buttoned his shirt cuffs and slipped on his trail jacket. He picked up his hat and placed it on his head.

"But you've only been here—it's been less than a half hour."

"What does it matter how long I stay? I told you I couldn't stay long when I came. I shouldn't have even come to see you tonight. Now, I have a campaign meeting to make." Adam placed his hand on the glass doorknob and turned the key with the other to unlock the door.

"I'll see you next Thursday night then." Anna meant it as a statement of fact but it came out as a query. She waited, holding her breath as Adam paused and then turned to her.

"Anna, I…yes. I'll be here next Thursday." He turned the knob and then left through the open door. Wi Song came in after him and closed the door.

"Mister Cartwright, him leave soon tonight."

"Yes. Yes, Mr. Cartwright 'leave soon' tonight. Too soon." Anna felt her heart fall. Next Thursday, he was going to tell her goodbye. She knew it, felt it, and there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing. No matter how much she wanted him to say that he would not only be there Thursday but also Friday and Saturday and every night of her life, he hadn't and never would. Anna knew that. So, when the two men had shown the following Wednesday afternoon, she was already primed for their request.

~ 0 ~

"Miss Anna, two men are here to see you." Big Saul said, standing at the entrance to the parlor. It was a little past noon and Anna was sipping hot coffee while everyone else except Saul and the cook were asleep. She had opened the drapes and pulled up the shade to enjoy the sunlight. Each day was becoming colder and colder and along with the shortened daylight came an oppression of spirit. But the golden sunlight which reflected off the highly polished mahogany furniture, raised her spirits. The redolent odor of lemon still filled the room since the cleaning lady and the man who mopped the floors and beat the rugs had already come while the house slept and left before anyone else woke.

"Have you seen them before, Saul? Are they regulars?" The gall of men showing up at this hour and expecting her to service them—two of them at that—was insulting to her. If they wanted a quick roll about on the mattress, they should go to a lesser house where the whores and madam were desperate for customers.

"No, ma'am. I ain't never seen neither one before. One's wearing a suit. Looks important."

"Do the look like lawmen?" Anna put down her cup and it rattled slightly on the saucer. She didn't want any lawmen poking their nose into Lady Bourbon's house or her business. And her mind searched for anything she may have done to call down any unknown lawman.

"Don't think so. They would've most likely shoved a badge in my face first thing. I told 'em we ain't open but they said alls they want is to talk to a whore named Anna and gave me three bits. Ain't like a lawman to pay neither. Should I send 'em in or throw 'em out?"

Anna considered. Then decided. "Show them in, Saul. But stay close enough so if I call out, you can hear me but not close enough to listen. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. I understand." He turned to leave. He liked Miss Anna. She always had a sweet smile and a cheerful greeting for him. The other whores basically ignored him except when they wanted a man tossed down the stairs and out the back door like the trash.

Anna smoothed her hair as best she could and poured herself another cup of coffee. If she held the cup and saucer and sipped, it would look as if she had no interest in the men's business.

The two men walked into the parlor. Neither man removed his hat. Anna nodded to Big Saul and he drew the heavy portieres. After a few pleasantries, the man in the suit took a seat while the other man stood behind him watching her.

"It was good of you to see me," the man said. Anna found it odd that he didn't use "us," to see "us".

"What is it you want?" Ana noticed her hand was shaking slightly and it caused a slight rattling of the cup on the saucer.

"Get right to the point. Good. It means you're practical—we can do business. We found out after a little…well, DeBrow here," the man said, gesturing to the man behind him, "has been watching Ben and Adam Cartwright for a while now. You see, there are a few people who have an interest in derailing Cartwright's campaign for governor and have hired us to see to it. And that brings me to you."

"Who are you?" Anna asked, sitting her cup and saucer now. She couldn't feign disinterest after hearing that and her stomach tightened; they meant to harm Adam, she was sure, but had no idea how she factored into any plan.

"It doesn't matter who I am, just that I have money." The man, a nice-looking man, about 40 years old, in an expensive suit, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather folding wallet. He opened it, pulled out a handful of bills, and offered them to her. "A thousand dollars. There's enough money there for a whore to start a new life, to get out of the business—if that's what you want. Or you can save the money for your old age, whatever you like but it's yours if you'll help us."

Anna stared at the money but didn't reach for it. The man placed the bills on the table in front of her. Anna glanced at the man called DeBrow. He had a pocked face and was thickly built. He was also armed and kept his hand near his holster even though she posed no threat. Anna was sure he was a hired gun.

"Now this is what we need. Listen carefully. We want a photograph of Adam Cartwright between your lovely legs. That's all you have to do—fall on your back and spread your legs for him as it seems you do once a week anyway. Looking at you though, I can't understand why he's not sniffing after you every night of the week."

"Why would you want a photograph of Adam with me?"

The man turned to DeBrow. "Are all whores this goddamn stupid?" DeBrow laughed and lit a cigarette taken from the crystal box on the table. Store-bought cigarettes were set out for waiting customers but DeBrow wasn't a customer; he wouldn't have been let into the parlor.

"Let me explain this to you one more time. The people I work for want to stop Ben Cartwright from running for governor. We can't find anything to use against him except his eldest son's lust for whores—you in particular. If we can get a photo of him in a whore house, in a whore's embrace, then we've done our job and earned our money. If you leave your door unlocked when Adam Cartwright visits tomorrow, you'll 've earned this money. That's all you need to know."

"No. I won't have anything to do with hurting Adam Cartwright—any of the Cartwrights. You can take your money and leave. If you don't, I'll call Big Saul to throw you out."

The man sighed and sat back in the chair. " All whores must just think with their cunts," he said to DeBrow who laughed again. "Now listen-if you like that big, dumb jackass, don't call him in. DeBrow there doesn't take to being given the bum's rush."

Anna paused. If she called in Big Saul, the man DeBrow would shoot him and neither man seemed in any hurry to leave. Anna mind's raced. And then it came to her almost as a religious epiphany; she was enlightened. Of Course-she could use what the men wanted for her own benefit. Yes, if she allowed them to take the photograph, they would threaten to blackmail the Cartwrights and while Ben Cartwright would more than likely buckle under to protect Adam, she was certain Adam would never allow himself to be blackmailed, never allow himself to be manipulated.

It would amaze Adam, Anna was sure, if he guessed just how much about him and his character she had garnered over the nights they had talked—basically, the times Adam had talked while she listened and admired him.

All men liked to talk, Anna knew that. Usually, after they had satisfied themselves, Anna would pour then a glass of the expensive champagne and listen, composing her face to appear interested, and listen while they spoke about themselves or complained about their wives or their jobs or lied about themselves and their accomplishments or just listened to the sound of their own self-important voices. But Adam talked about ideas and his interest in architecture. He described buildings he desired to design, cathedrals, opera houses and such—grand edifices. He spoke of art and books he had read. Through all he had said, telling her about his earlier years, she knew he was a man who wouldn't be controlled by others and their beliefs in what is right or wrong. He set his own parameters of behavior.

So, Anna decided, Adam would tell Mrs. Dayton about her, Anna, once the threat of blackmail came. He would let her know about his visits before it became public knowledge, before he allowed his father to be the pawn of blackmailers. Anna was certain that the lovely widow would then break off with Adam. Any decent woman would rather than be embarrassed by possibly seeing her fiancé caught "in flagrante" in a photograph. And even if that wasn't the reason, Anna was almost certain that the engagement would be eventually terminated after a decent amount of time. After all, Mrs. Dayton would know that while Adam was courting her, squiring her about, every Thursday night and sometimes even more often, Adam Cartwright was with her.

"I…all you'll do is take the photograph, correct."

"That's what our employers want; they just want a photograph.' The man waited and then, seeing that Anna was considering their proposal, said, "What do you say then?"

"All right. I'll leave the door unlocked." Anna rose to leave.

The man in the suit stood up as well. "Don't forget your money." He swept the bills off the table and held them out.

Anna paused. Then she took them. She could always use the money and this was more than she had ever seen at one time. And she hadn't had to do anything but listen to another man talk.

"And here's another $200.00." He pulled out his wallet and took out two more bills. "Give that ugly gorilla $100.00 to mind his own business and give the other to your madam. Just a little grease for the wheel." And he grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

**I have moved up the modernization of photography a few years—about 2-3 years because it's my story and I can. ; ) Any reader can suspend his/her disbelief and just go with the story. I'm taking creative liberties as the writers did with the series. Shortly after the Civil War, dry plate photography was introduced, became prevalent and was more convenient. The plates could be stored and developed at leisure. Not only that, but dry plate led to the predominant use of hand-held cameras and stop-action photography; subjects didn't have to remain still for any length of time.**

 **Five**

Anna held on to the man she loved, her arms about his neck. She had made an effort to appear as if all was normal when he had shown but Wi Song was nervous, wringing her small hands. Miss Anna had told her about men with cameras coming—and not to stop them. No matter what, Anna had said, don't call Big Saul to take care of the men. But Wi Song was afraid, afraid something would go wrong. Anna sent Wi Song out, told her to go to the kitchen and get something to eat.

"She's just hungry," Anna told Adam when he commented that Wi Song was behaving oddly.

The hundred-dollar bill was enough, along with a smile, to get Big Saul to allow the photographer and whoever came with him, to go up the stairs to her room. He asked a few questions, but Anna assured him that she would be fine; no harm would be done to anyone. Big Saul said he wasn' sure but Anna smiled and said it would be fine.

But Lady Bourbon—Bess, as she was called by those in the house—would require more than one hundred dollars to allow such a thing—Anna knew that; Anna offered her $500.00.

"Why do they want a picture of Adam Cartwright? I know them Cartwrights have a mess of enemies—any wealthy person does, but Adam, well, he doesn't get involved in other people's business much. Leastways, not that I know. Having a picture taken might ruin men coming to my house. I don't want to lose any business."

"The pictures not for anything but leverage," Anna said. "The men told me it won't even be published."

Lady Bourbon looked at the $500.00 in her hand. She hadn't yet decided to take the money or not. "Sounds like blackmail."

"I don't know," Anna said. "It might be of a type. All I know is it has something to do with politics, the race for governor of Nevada."

"Really? Well, well. From what I hear, the days of brothels out her are numbered and if Ben Cartwright gets into the governor mansion, well, new regulations are supposed to be set down. He's never been in my house—doesn't seem to like whorehouses—or whores. Least that's what I read; he wants to clean up the state, regulate gambling and liquor sales and such. The law won't be able to look the other way anymore." Bess folded the bills again and tucked them in the bosom of her dress. "Okay. I'll let the men come in but no pictures of anyone else or you'll have to answer for it. Understand?"

Anna understood. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground. She might even lose some of her regulars. But she had convinced herself that with the pretty widow out of his life, perhaps, just perhaps, she would be able to marry Adam Cartwright herself. And if nothing else, without a wife, Adam would still visit her.

While Adam moved over Anna, kissing her neck and shoulders, she closed her eyes and filled her head with his smell, his voice and the weight of his body on hers. The hairs on his chest pricked her breasts.

She waited, barely breathing. When was it going to happen? And then she considered that maybe it wouldn't. She felt overwhelming relief and realized that she didn't want it to happen.

The door swung open, hitting the wall and Adam, surprised turned his head. Two men stood just outside the room—one held a large camera and the other, a flash lamp.

"Smile!" the photographer said and before Adam could even comprehend what was happening, there was the pop and bright light of the flash lamp, and a click and whirr of the camera shutter. Then the men turned and hurriedly left. Adam could hear their laughter and excited voices as they hurried down the stairs.

Adam leapt out of bed. "What the hell…" There were white spots before his eyes from the bright flash and he had trouble focusing. He grabbed his trousers, quickly shoving first one leg than the other in and pulling them up. Anna begged him not to go to go after the men, saying they might be dangerous. Perhaps they had a gunman with them? Anna remembered DeBrow. Maybe he was waiting outside to see if Adam chased the men; he'd think nothing of shooting Adam down in the street. Adam ignored her pleas, quickly buttoning the fly of his trousers. Barefooted, Adam took off down the stairs and out the front door of the brothel. The portieres to the parlor were closed so no patrons saw the bare-chested, barefooted man as he ran by.

Once he was outside, the cold air chilled his skin and he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Adam ran under the trellis and out into the street. Not many people were ever out on this end of town unless they had a specific purpose. He paused. It was dark but the lights from the saloons and brothels in the area lit the street and the moon had been full only three days ago; there was still enough moonlight for him to see. Adam, moving more slowly, looked up and down the side streets; the men couldn't have gotten too far carrying their gear. Then he saw them. They were walking toward an alleyway, apparently unaware that he was following them. Adam headed after them, his bare feed thudding as he ran. He was closing in and guessed would reach them in a few more steps, garb the camera man first and pull him over onto the ground. Adam figured the other man would continue to run, especially if he saw the cameraman groveling in the dirt. Then the cameraman turned, probably at the sound, and saw Adam barreling after them.

"Run!" the man holding the camera said; he hadn't yet placed it back into the camera bag which hung awkwardly off his shoulder. They both broke into a run and the man with the flash lamp turned and threw it at Adam. Adam fended it off with his forearm, but it did slow him down a pace or two. The one man, now free of the lamp, headed out the far end of the alley first, quite few feet before his partner, and rounded the corner to the left. The camera man, breathing heavily, made the end of the alley before Adam. He swung to the right.

Adam considered they were splitting up—he would have to choose who to pursue but it wasn't a difficult decision—the man with the camera. He ran faster, his lungs burning with exertion but he had to get the camera away from the man. He would slam it against the wall and enjoy seeing and hearing the piece of equipment destruct. As Adam headed out of the alley, a man stepped out and something slammed against Adam's face, mainly his forehead, and he went down, his feet going out from under him. He landed heavily on his back, the wind knocked out of him by the impact, the back of his head hitting the packed dirt. Adam felt as if he had run into a brick wall but in actuality, as he would see when he was able to sit up—he had been struck with a slender board as he had exited the alley.

The sound of a wagon leaving came through the ringing in his ears. Adam's forehead and injured nose sent shudders of pain down his spine and he felt as if the back of his skull must be cracked into a thousand shards. Adam lay groaning for a few moments and then forced himself to sit up. The dirt stuck to his sweat-drenched skin. His head spun and throbbed and nausea overwhelmed him. He leaned over and vomited in the dirt but the cold air helped keep him from feeling too light-headed. On the ground in front of him was a plank of discarded wood, partially splintered and bent in the middle. His father had always said he had a hard head, Adam remembered. He'd have to tell this story one day, of how he spilt a plank of wood with his forehead. Some day when he could find the humor.

Staggering to his feet, having to support himself with the wall the first few steps, Adam made his way back to Lady Bourbon's and Anna, but this time, he went through the back entrance and held tightly to the handrail to go up the stairs, his head still spinning. He pushed open the door to Anna's room and stumbled in.

Anna gasped. "Oh, Adam, what…" Adam dropped into a chair while Anna soaked a cloth in water and hurried to wipe his face. He winced and pushed her hand away.

"I think my nose is broken—and my head hurts like hell—back and front. I need to see Doc Martin." Adam went to the vanity and leaning on the top, looked at himself in the mirror. "Give me that," he said, reaching out for the wet cloth. His nose was swelling and both his eyes were developing black half-circles under them. His forehead was also turning purple, growing a "goose egg", and the skin was split and bleeding above one eyebrow; his dripping sweat made it sting. He pressed it with the cloth as much as he could to staunch the bleeding and not cause too much pain.

"Let me take care of you," Anna said. "Sit back down—sit here. Big Saul sometimes gets…" She reached up to push back Adam's hair but he pushed her hand away.

"I guess I was hit harder than I thought because it just came to me—how'd those men open the door?"

"What?" Anna had heard him but she needed time, needed to think.

"You heard me. How'd those men get the door open? You always lock the door."

"I…I must have forgotten."

"No, Anna, you didn't forget. You walked over to the door and I heard the key. But you didn't turn it, did you? You set me up."

"I don't know what you mean." Anna grabbed the neck of the yellow silk robe and held it tightly closed.

"The hell you don't. Who were they, Anna? Why did they need my picture in a whorehouse?"

Anna blanched. She felt she couldn't breathe but she had to stick to her lie of ignorance; she didn't know what else to do.

Adam gingerly touched his nose, right above the nostrils; the edge of the board had struck and it was cut and bleeding. He pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and touched his nose, folding the cloth over before shoving it back into his pocket. He stood, gained his balance, and reached for his shirt and slipped it on, buttoning it up.

"So, are you going to tell me?" Anna remained silent while Adam looked at her. "All right. I hope they paid you well. My guess is this has something to do with the gubernatorial race."

"Adam," Anna began to weep, her tears flowing freely. She wanted to apologize, to make him understand why she did what she did, why she allowed them to take the picture. Anna tried to grasp his arm but he shrugged off her hand. He sat down to pull on his boots.

"Your tears aren't going to work, Anna." He stood up and grabbed his jacket and hat. He put his hat on and reached for the bottle of champagne. He grabbed it by the neck and took a long swallow. Suddenly he wished he hadn't; his stomach threatened to rebel. He placed it heavily back down, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

"I don't why I should be surprised you sold me out, Anna. You sell yourself every day and I guess, once a whore always a whore; you'd sell anyone and anything for the right price, wouldn't you." He moved toward the door but Anna managed to grab his arm, he raised it, trying to pull away. Adam considered he should back-hand Anna, slap her, knock her onto the floor as he had been. But he didn't.

"Leave me be, Anna. Just let me forget what you did—and you."

"But, Adam! Please! You don't understand. You don't! Let me explain!" Adam continued to head to the door. "Wait! Just wait a moment while I dress. I'll go with you, Adam, to the doctor. Please, let me go with you."

Adam turned at the doorway. Wi Song stood pressed against the wall in the hallway. She had done as she had been told; stayed out of things—stayed away. But Mr. Cartwright, he frightened her and his anger terrified her. She feared he would snatch her by her hair and toss her down the stairs but he paid her no attention, just went down the back stairs instead of the front ones.

Anna crept back to Miss Anna's room. She rushed to the bed where Miss Anna lay sobbing.

"Missy Anna, Missy Anna—what wrong?" But Anna didn't answer, just continued to weep. Wi Song feared she would never be able to stop and that she would die from weeping.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six**

"Get that goddamn light out of my eyes," Adam said as he pushed Paul Martin's hand away.

"I need to check your pupils again, so if you wouldn't mind…" Dr. Martin had swung down the head mirror so the reflection off the lamp would illuminate Adam's eyes so he could tell if the pupils properly responded and shrunk to a pinhole size.

"I've had enough light in my eyes tonight. Just give me something for my headache, would you? And my ears keep ringing? Give me something to stop that too." Adam, sitting on a metal chair in the examination area of the doctor's house, dropped his head in his hands.

Adam knew he was badly hurt but all he wanted was something for his headache, for the ringing that was driving him mad, and to go home and go to bed. He would think about all that had happened later.

His nausea was also an issue and Adam knew he would be fighting it as he rode; just swinging himself up into his saddle to ride to the doctor's had made him queasy. He had leaned over, still in the saddle, and vomited again. The champagne he had drunk came up and his throat burned as a result.

Rolling his stool back, Paul Martin pursed his lips. "I think you need to stay here overnight. You can stay in the surgery or in a bed in the back recovery room."

"No. I just want to go home before I fall asleep sitting here. I need to talk to my father; trust me—it's important."

"Is it worth dying for?"

"What the hell are you talking about." Adam felt as if his thoughts were trying to fight their way out of a fog. He was having trouble remembering what he had just said. He had to make an effort to follow the conversation and was being overwhelmed by the urge to sleep. And the ringing in his ears! That was even worse, more annoying than his throbbing head.

"What I'm saying is that men have died before from just hitting their heads. They think they're fine and then they drop dead from a brain bleed. About twenty, maybe thirty years ago, a doctor realized that when a person is hit in the head with any force, the brain becomes bruised—bleeds actually—when it bounces against the skull. It's called a 'contusio cerebral'. You, being hit in the front of your head—and that's one helluva goose egg—and falling back and hitting your head again, bruised your brain."

"What? I…I have a bruised brain? That's what you're telling me?" Adam tried to follow the doctor's conversation.

"Yes. And the ringing in your ears, the headache, the nausea, your sleepiness—you have what's called a concussion; it's the result of a bruised brain. I need to observe you overnight in case you become worse."

"And what if I do? What are you going to do? Put a plaster on my brain like you did my nose?" Adam touched the bandage that had been placed over his nose. That was one good piece of news—his nose wasn't broken.

"I don't know that I can do anything—at least not without surgery. But you stand a better chance staying here than being bounced about on the trail." Paul waited. Adam was an intelligent man, a logical man so Paul hoped Adam would see the reason behind staying there.

"No, I need to go." Adam stood up but swayed on his feet. He flung out his arms to grab onto something and Paul grabbed him, struggling to keep his patient upright. Adam broke out in a sweat and found himself repeatedly swallowing to prevent throwing-up; he didn't want to spew bile all over the floor.

"Sit back down," Paul said and helped Adam back into the chair.

"Sorry," Adam mumbled; he was breathing heavily and found he was having trouble forming words; it frightened him. He had never felt this way. It was as if he was being dragged underwater and unable to help himself rise back to the surface no matter how hard he struggled. "I'll stay…just give me…my head hurts bad."

After helping Adam rise from the chair, Paul slipped an arm around him. Adam was bigger and heavier than Paul and it wasn't easy for the doctor to maneuver Adam to the back room where a bed waited and a lamp was lit. There was also a sink and a white metal cabinet filled with towels and rolls of gauze as well as metal bowls and simple surgical instruments. Against the wall was what served as a toilet—a chair with a chamber pot slid into slots below the opening in the seat.

Adam gratefully fell onto the bed. Paul reached down and lifted Adam's lower legs onto the bed—boots and all. The sheets were still pulled-up, the bed tightly made, but Adam was beginning to mumble, trying to keep himself awake, attempting to raise his head and then, grimacing, dropping back onto the pillow. Paul decided to just place a blanket over his patient and to let him sleep.

"Thank you, Paul. I don't know what's wrong. I can't seem to stay awake…my father…he needs to know about…there was a photograph taken…he needs to know about…" And then Adam became silent, his head slightly dropping to one side, his breathing, easing.

Paul picked up Adam's wrist and felt the pulse. It was slowing but then Adam was sleeping. "These Cartwrights," Paul said. And then he smiled. Once he had heard Joe call his oldest brother "granite head." Paul decided Adam's head must be made of granite for him to have survived what he did. And knowing it would be a long night, Paul went to his small kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Then, in his private room, he picked up the book he had been reading. Paul's nurse didn't work at night so he would need to sit with his patient himself and check on him through the night.

"Looks like it's just going to be you and me tonight, Miss Sharpe," the doctor said as he tucked the novel, _Vanity Fair_ , under his arm. At least, he considered, it won't be a boring night.

~ 0 ~

"Roy!"

Sheriff Roy Coffee turned at his name and two men quickly approached.

"Ben—Hoss, mornin'. Guess you come to get your boy, Ben."

"You have him locked up?" Ben hadn't expected to find Adam siting in a jail cell, not at his age although there had been times when his son was younger that he had to put up bail.

"No, he's over at Doc Martin's—just got a note delivered by little Tom Early. Seems Adam was hurt last night—some brawl or some such thing, and I'm goin' over to take a statement. Need to find out if there was a crime committed. Come on with me."

Ben and Hoss stepped in beside Roy, Ben, a bit annoyed at the lawman's leisurely pace.

"So you don't know what happened?"

"Not yet?"

"You don't seem in much of a hurry."

"Don't see what's going to change in the time it takes to get there? Besides, if I walk too fast, well, people'll think I'm hurrying to put out some fire somewhere. So to speak, that is."

"Adam's fine, Pa." Hoss said. "Just calm down. Joe and me done told you he'd be fine. Ain't he fine, Roy? You weren't told any different, were you?"

"Nope," the sheriff said and continued strolling towards the doctor's surgery.

~0~

"So how do you feel this morning?" Paul asked his patient who sat up on the edge of the bed drinking a cup of coffee. The night had been uneventful; Adam's pulse had remained strong and the times Paul woke him and brought him back to consciousness, Adam was lucid albeit angry at being woken and quickly fell back asleep.

"I feel like someone's had my head on an anvil and pounded it. Damn, my head hurts!"

"Can you see me clearly?"

Adam paused drinking the bitter coffee. "Clear as day. Both of you."

Paul was puzzled. Then he saw Adam's half-grin and realized he was having his leg pulled.

"I just want to go home, Paul—sleep in my own bed." Adam rubbed the back of his neck. "I have quite a few recriminations and I need to punish myself by reliving them in private."

"Then you remember last night?"

"Wish I didn't, but yes, I remember it clearly."

"Good, then I'm not going to insist on keeping you another night but I do have some orders for you to follow."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." Adam bent down and placed his coffee mug on the floor. When he raised his head, he was flooded with nausea. Again, he broke out in a sweat.

"Adam?" Paul leaned down to look at his patient more closely.

"I just…let me lie down a minute. That wasn't a good idea-I shouldn't' have bent over. Oh, hell." Adam lay back down, flinging one arm over his forehead while the room spun. He winced and quickly pulled his arm down; he had forgotten about the huge bruise on his forehead.

"I don't know about this, Adam…" Then Paul stood up and turned toward the doorway when he heard the front door open and the bell over it clanging.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Just me," Roy Coffee called out," and…"

"And us!"

"My father and brother, Hoss," Adam said, basically to himself. "As if things weren't bad enough."

The three men walked in and Hoss spoke first.

"Hell, Adam! You look like you done got kicked in the face by a mule!"

"I feel like I did. And a big, goddamn mule at that."

~ 0 ~

Adam lay in the back of a rented buckboard on a mattress from the doctor's recovery ward. Ben had told Hank Lawson that he wanted a buckboard with good springs.

"Now don't give me some buckboard that rides like it's going over a rutted road when it's not. I want one that rides as smooth as a boat on a still lake, understand?"

"It'll cost you extra."

"Now why the hell should it cost me extra? I swear, you're one the crookedest, one of the most miserable damn out-and-out thieving…" Ben stammered. He wanted to say more, to enrage Hank as much as he was enraged but the words didn't come; his mind was still on Adam back in the surgery with Hoss sitting with him.

"I just got a new buckboard and it'll cost you more to rent. You don't wanta pay the price, you're choice."

But Ben had paid the price; the doctor had said the Adam shouldn't be jarred and if that specific buckboard helped Adam's recovery, he'd pay any price. And Ben had to conceded that the buckboard did ride smoothly—as smoothly as one could.

"So—let me see if I understand this-you had your picture taken while performing the deed of kind? Is that what you're telling me?" Ben turned to look down at his eldest while Hoss drove.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you—and although he got my face, he also got my backside—Not the most flattering photo, I'm sure."

"Some might say that's your best side," Hoss said, laughing.

"Hoss, that's enough."

"Yes, sir." Hoss knew the situation was serious but he could also see the humor in it and so could Adam; he chuckled.

"You didn't recognize who took the picture?" Ben queried.

"No. Pa, I didn't recognize the man. Look, my head really hurts—I don't feel much like talking. And although I'm fuzzy, I figure that I'm about to be blackmailed—or you are—or both of us. And I also figure it has to do with you running for governor. We'll find out in a day or two, I'm sure."

Ben turned back around on his seat. He decided when Adam felt better, then he would chastise him about visiting a whore while engaged to marry. Adam had been foolish to flout society's rules when it was important that the Cartwrights remain honorable, remain a force for law and order. He had long felt that houses of prostitution should be regulated as they were often the place of disease and men being shot or beaten to death by a paid thug. And as for saloons and such, having them apply for a license and being regulated would prevent saloon owners from serving rotgut whiskey and charging prices as if it were genuine imported Irish whiskey. Ben could envision how Nevada could rise in importance to become the shining gem of the west. It would become a force for greatness, an example that other states would aspire to equal.

He knew he had made enemies. Why just a few weeks ago, he had made an enemy of Frank Hogan and those of his ilk. Hogan was an influential man and although Ben couldn't believe that Hogan would bend so low as to set-up Adam for blackmail, someone else who was greatly invested in gambling and brothels and running liquor wouldn't think twice.

"I've been naïve," Ben thought. "I've been a big damn fool." A quote by Socrates came to him— _I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live._

And now his son was paying the price for his aspirations and ambition.


	7. Chapter 7

**I just want to say thank you to the supportive guest reviewers. I appreciate your comments.**

 **Seven**

"So you just had to tell her. I wish you hadn't, Adam. At least not yet."

Laura Dayton had left the house almost at a run, her hand to her mouth as if trying to suppress sobs. Ben, seeing her through the kitchen window, had rushed outside; Adam must have told her about the photograph—and his other female. Laura's face was stiff as she faced Ben. He wanted to comfort her in some way but all she allowed was that he help her up into the buggy. "just let me leave, Mr. Cartwright. Please. I can't…" And Ben had stepped away as Laura picked up the reins and snapped them lightly. He watched her leave, his heart dropping in despair.

"I felt I had to tell her but now, I'm not so sure I should have." Adam sat in a chair next to the fireplace, gazing into the flames that licked around the stacked wood. On the low table in front of him was a cake Laura had made but it sat untouched.

"The photograph—nothing may come from it," Ben said, "and even if it does, well, I've been rethinking my campaign. But despite that, I think you made a mistake in telling Laura about your peccadillo." Ben sat down across from Adam. He leaned forward and clasped his hands.

"It's more than a 'peccadillo'—I was actually 'fond' of the woman and visited her each week, sometimes even more because I wanted to. But lately I'd been having second thoughts about my trysts, feeling guilty for a few weeks now. There's no reason I can't be celibate for a few months until the marriage but I saw the whore because I wanted to, because I enjoyed my time with her. But Laura deserves better than that, better than my being so goddamn dishonest."

"Adam, I can't say I agree with what you did, taking care of your…'needs' the way you did but all men feel the urge and when a man gets to your age and he's not married, well, he finds it a relief to visit…"

Adam suppressed a smile at his father's discomfort; he had long ago come to the conclusion that his father was actually a bit of a prude and had certain ideas about women. The closest his father came to abandoning his high standards of the type of woman with whom to associate was when he married Marie, Joe's mother. And even that had been tame compared to many of the women with whom his sons had associated over the years. After all, Marie DeVaille's adulterous reputation was unjustified but it did add a touch of excitement to Ben's life. And Marie had been beautiful.

"Pa, I can find relief at the end of my own arm. It was more that she—Pa, I think she loved me."

"Oh? Why would you think that? Because she gladly took your money, lay with you and did whatever pleased you? I assume she didn't do all of it gratis. You paid, correct?"

It wasn't like his father to be so sarcastic, Adam considered. That was usually his purview. "Yes, she took my money. But there was just something else…"

"All right. Let's assume the…what's her name?"

"Anna."

"Anna. Let's assume she loves you. How do you feel about her? In light of all that's happened."

"I'm not sure, to tell the truth. It's nice to be loved, adored and such but what did I read once? Something along the lines that there are two parties in a love 'transaction'; the person who loves and the other who condescends to be loved. Maybe I just enjoyed it. Maybe I just condescended. Anyway, I realize now that love with her was just a "transaction". She betrayed me and showed she loves money more than anything or anyone else. If I never see the bitch again, I'll be fine."

"Since you never intend to see…Anna again, why did you unload your conscience on Laura? Did she really need to know?"

"I'm not sure but Laura doesn't know me, who I really am. I felt she should know what's been going on behind her back."

"You've courted her for over a year now. How can you say she doesn't know you?"

"Pa, just listen to me. I've courted Laura, escorted her and Peggy to church, taken them on picnics, out on drives and accompanied Laura to dances and such but she doesn't really know me. I don't think she ever wanted to. If she did really know me, she wouldn't marry me—and now that she does know me, it's proven. She doesn't want to even see me again, not that I blame her. She said I'm no better than Frank. And she's right. But then maybe all men are the same—that all we want is a tight fit between warm thighs.

"Maybe it wasn't best that I tell her but…anyway, the idea that Hoss, Joe, Will and others know about my tendency to wallow in the mud and enjoy a bit of indecent behavior, well, everyone in the family would know but her. I couldn't do that to her, have her play the dupe. Laura had to be given the opportunity to slap me or spit in my face."

"Did she?" Ben was standing by now; he was too upset to sit.

"I think if I hadn't already been hurt, she would have hauled off and walloped me—or should have. But instead she looked as if I'd hit her. I don't know that I can forgive myself for that and if a picture of my ass is printed on the front page of the _Territorial Enterprise,_ it's what I deserve. But that shouldn't affect you and your decision to continue campaigning; a lot of people have a vested interest in you winning."

"Well," Ben stood up straight, "we'll see what happens. The picture may never come to light so we shouldn't worry about things that haven't yet happened."

"Oh, 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,' huh?" Adam smiled. His God-fearing father always had a biblical quote when needed and although Adam wouldn't admit it, sometimes he found comfort in them as he did the one about worrying about what hadn't yet happened.

"You laugh at it, but if you'd read the Bible more, you'd find guidance and you wouldn't have been caught in a whore's bed."

"Oh. I didn't know the Bible gave instructions on how to avoid getting caught."

Immediately Adam regretted his joke; after all, his father was right.

"I'm sorry, Pa. I know it's not a joking matter and I take full responsibility. I guess I have to face the consequences. I'd joke about making my bed and having to lie it but…"

"I think we've had enough jokes." Ben said. "Now we have to wait and see what's going to happen. In the meantime, I think I'll send Will to check on Laura when they all come home to lunch. He'll appreciate the break. I don't know that Will's right for ranch work; he doesn't seem to like it very much, the physical labor part."

"No, but he seems to like spending time with Laura."

"I don't think…"

"All right, Pa, all right! I know I've been a cheating son of a bitch. I know what a poor fiancé I was and I don't blame Laura one bit for breaking off with me. It's just that I don't think that I'm the only one who's been tempted to find a little comfort elsewhere. I'm just the only one who acted on it."

"Now just what do you mean by that? Are you accusing Will of trying to steal Laura away or of Laura being unfaithful with Will?"

"No." Adam knew he should stop before he made any allegation. It was just that he noticed the looks Will gave Laura and the small, private way she had of smiling at Will. Laura would glance at Will, smile wanly, and then look away. The idea that Laura and Will had a singular relationship injured Adam's pride. His pride. If the photograph was published, his pride wasn't worth much at all.

~ 0 ~

"I'm getting cabin fever, Pa. I need to get out. I've been in this goddamn house now for five days. Tell you what-I'll visit the mill and make sure the planing will be done in time. We have to deliver that lumber by Thursday."

"Joe's taking care of that and Hoss is out marking trees; I don't need you to do anything at the moment. And did you **not** hear what Paul said before he left? Is the ringing in your ears too loud for you to hear properly? He said at least two more days before you can take any jostling. Your balance is off, and you still have a headache. And now you want to ride your horse."

"A little fresh air will clear up my headache. I just need to get out." Adam had been unable to sleep well. Part of it was the lingering headache but the rest was that he kept seeing Laura's face, how hurt she had been when he had told her about Anna, about his visits to the brothel and how he had been photographed in her bed. Laura had been unable to speak at first. And Adam could still clearly see Laura's face change from concern that what he had to tell her was about his health to an expression of shock, pain and disillusionment.

 _"_ _All this time, Adam, all this time you've been visiting another woman. All this time." Laura hadn't yet cried, hadn't yet registered anything but shock._

 _"_ _Laura, I'm so sorry that I've hurt you. I…"_

 _"_ _You…and Frank. You're just like Frank was. Both of you. Neither one of you was satisfied…" Her voice drifted off. Then she seemed to gather herself, to summon her pride. "You wanted a woman without scruples or morals in your bed just as Frank did. I wanted Frank to die for what he did to me. Not just on our wedding night but for our whole marriage—humiliating me over and over with any woman he found. And now you've humiliated me too. Oh, how that woman must have laughed behind my back at how ignorant I was."_

 _"_ _Laura, I don't know what I can say." Adam was tempted to reach out for her, to physically comfort her but thought better. Then she turned to him, her blue eyes wide._

 _"_ _The woman."_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"_ _A few weeks ago, a woman rode out to the ranch. Beautiful. Dark hair and she wore rouge and lined her eyes. She said her name was Anna. Is that she? Is she the one you've been seeing?"_

 _Adam said nothing. Anna had gone out to Laura's, to the Running D and spoken to Laura. That bitch! How dare she do such a thing?_

 _"_ _How she must have laughed at me behind my back!" Laura laughed as well, but not with pleasure. "I looked like an idiot. She was the woman you've been seeing, wasn't she?"_

 _"_ _Yes."_

 _Laura said nothing else. She picked up her reticule and left the house that would have been her own after her marriage to Adam Cartwright. But that was before._

"Have you looked in the mirror at yourself? You still have two black eyes and that huge bruise on your forehead. If you want fresh air, sit on the porch. But I don't think…"

Adam slid his hands in his back pockets, pursing his lips in frustration. "I'm not asking your permission—I'm just telling you. But if you don't want me to go to the mill, fine. I'll just ride out to the lake. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some thinking to do."

In the back of his mind, he decided he would ride out to the Running D. Peggy would be fascinated by the way he looked; he knew that. And if he rode out and saw Laura, Adam hoped it would exorcise Anna from his soul. Each day, he found himself thinking of Anna more and more and yearning for her, to kiss her mouth and feel her supple body yield to him, for her legs to open to him and her smooth hands glide over his body. Adam would have to remind himself that Anna had betrayed him, sold him out, turned on him. How could he ever have thought she loved him? And how could he ever have speculated on his feelings toward her? Anna was a whore. And whores would do anything for money. Even pretend to love a man. And a man should just fuck a whore, get his money's worth and walk away.

Adam pulled his hat off the rack by the front door while Ben watched his eldest, his expression dark. Adam reached for his gun belt but stopped at the loud, metallic thump of the doorknocker. Adam turned toward his father.

It was about 10:00 in the morning, the day was beautiful, the air crisp. There was nothing insidious about having a visitor this time of day but Ben said, "Wait." Then he walked to the credenza by the door and pulled his gun from its holster.

"Pa, you can't think that…" But maybe it was someone about the photograph. Every day they had expected someone or a letter, something, but up to that day, no one had contacted them.

"Just to be on the safe side."

Adam opened the door and saw two men, one well-dressed in a suit and not armed—at least not visibly. Behind him was a good-sized muscular man with a pock-marked face. He stood at the edge of the porch and looked about.

"Ah, Adam Cartwright," the man in the suit said. "I recognize you from your photograph although you are…standing up." And the man smiled. "And this," he said, gesturing toward the other man, "is Mr. DeBrow, my associate."

DeBrow glanced at Adam and nodded but remained on the front porch while the other man came in and took the offered seat. Ben sat down and was tempted to confront the man but it was Adam's business. It took all his self-control to maintain his silence but he was determined to stay and listen. If he spoke, if he said anything, Adam might ask him to leave—Ben wouldn't take the chance.

"You know who I am—who are you?" Adam leaned forward in his chair.

"That doesn't matter. What does is that I have a photograph of you in a compromising situation."

"Let me see it."

"Why should I show it to you? You know all about it. After all, you were there." The man smiled again. "Too bad about your face."

"My face will heal. Now, if you've come to sell the photograph, I need to see it before I decide to bargain or not."

"I'm selling it but not for money."

 _The man had known that Cartwright would want to see the photograph but it hadn't come out well. "I needed a few more seconds to get a clear photo but he'd been a helluva lot faster than I'd expected. That son of a bitch leapt out of bed like a jackknife opens and scared the shit out of me. I'm lucky I didn't drop the camera. You should've seen the look in his eyes. If he'd caught me, I swear he would've shoved my camera up my ass," the photographer said as he explained the poor quality of the exposure; the photo was blurry and although one could discern what was going on, there was no way to determine who was in the photograph. "I had to move too fast, should've held the shutter open for a few more seconds but he wasn't posing, you know. I didn't want to do this in the first place but I got you your photo. Now do I get my money or not?"_

 _The photographer was nervous. He should never have taken the job but he needed the money. The rented room over the mercantilist's was small and the rats that crawled around the store at night often paid him a visit as they crawled down from the attic. But it was a room where he could live and develop his photos and he had to pay the rent—and eat. He wanted his promised twenty-five dollars._

 _"_ _DeBrow," the well-dressed man said, "pay the man, will you. Pay him the amount we discussed." Then he walked out and stood outside the small developing room. He lit a cigarette and heard some furniture turned over and some muffed noises. Then, after a few more satisfying draws from the cigarette, the door opened and DeBrow walked out._

 _"_ _Well?" the man asked._

 _"_ _Paid in full, Boss."_

 _"_ _Good." He looked at the photograph again, pulling it from the envelope. Useless. He wouldn't be paid for this miserable piece of work. He had been told to do whatever was necessary to prevent Ben Cartwright from continuing his campaign. Except kill the man. That was the only condition. "Just like Satan and that goddamn Job. Just don't kill the man," he said to himself._

 _He didn't like being hobbled. But he'd earn his money—some way or the other._

 _"_ _C'mon DeBrow," he said. "Let's get the hell out of Placerville. I don't like this town. I hear people tend to get killed here." He and a smiling Debrow walked down the outside stairs, mounted their horses and rode back to Virginia City._

Ben Cartwright couldn't resist anymore. He interrupted. "If not for money, for what?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight**

"You see," the well-dressed visitor said, "I work for a gentleman who is against your campaign for governor; he backs another candidate—for reasons of his own. Well, to be completely honest, and I see no reason not to be, he backs any candidate other than you, Mr. Cartwright. It would serve him best, and yourself as well, if you would abandon your campaign. So, if you make a public announcement and make sure all the newspapers print it, the photograph of your son here, will disappear completely, never to be seen again." He waited. Neither of the two men had said anything yet. The older man looked concerned; the younger, dark-haired man just looked smug.

Ben cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "I had been thinking about dropping out…"

"No, Pa." Adam noticed that although the visitor appeared calm, sweat beads broke out on his upper lip and his forehead. "If you want to abort the campaign for your own personal reasons, I won't protest, but not over this."

The visitor glanced back and forth between both men. He disliked the younger man-intensely. There was something about him, his arrogance, his air of superiority even though he had been caught rutting in a whorehouse, that made the visitor bristle. "Do the two of you actually think that Ben Cartwright can be elected governor if it's shown that his eldest son, the one who's accompanied him on the campaign trail, the one who attends church regularly, who serves on the Virginia City School Board and various civil committees—yes, I've checked you out," he said to Adam. "Will people vote for Ben Cartwright when they find out his eldest is a whoremonger?"

Adam's laugh surprised him. The man seemed truly delighted at the summary of how things stood.

"As if that would make me any worse than the men who'll vote for my father. Do you have any idea how many unmarried men reside in Nevada? What do you think they do to satisfy themselves—other than the obvious. They visit whores. It's a booming business out here, so booming that my father wants to regulate it for the protection of not just the, as you say, whoremongers, but the whores as well. My visiting a whorehouse will be nothing new to any of them. And the fact that I was caught, well, it might even rouse a bit of envy, especially if the photograph captured the beauty of my…companion.

"You—or the man you work for, doesn't know the territory or the men who live and work here. And I have no wife, no one I need to protect from a possible scandal. Print the photo. Hell, send it to all the newspapers, but you'll be reading about that instead of my father's dissolution of his campaign."

"Adam, maybe you shouldn't be so fast to…" Ben never had the chance to finish his thought.

"Don't worry, Pa. He's got shit. If he had a photograph, he'd show it to us to gain more bargaining leverage. But no matter, I don't want you to back off, Pa. Don't yield to blackmail."

The visitor stood up. "Is that the way you feel, Mr. Cartwright?"

Ben looked at Adam. Then Ben sighed as he stood and raised himself to his prodigious height. "Yes. I feel the same way as my son. We won't submit to blackmail. Now, if you would please leave…"

Adam and Ben both walked the man to the door but the man turned one last time in the open door. "Is that your final word?" He was angry but over the years had developed such strength at self-control that his unvented fury barely showed.

But Adam sensed it more than saw it.

"Yes," Ben said. "That's my—and my son's-final word on the matter. And it's my fervent hope that our paths never cross again."

The man smiled. "That's yet to be seen now, isn't it?' He tipped his hat. "Good day to you both."

But once he was outside, the smile dropped away; the rage inside him grew, fueled by Adam Cartwright's haughtiness. As he and Debrow rode off, he said, "DeBrow, just like I thought, those goddamn Cartwrights turned down the deal; they called my bluff. But, like I said, I more or less expected it."

"So whadda we do now?"

"I have another plan—inchoate, but I'll figure it out and all the possibilities for failure. A man has to be prepared for anything if he's going to be successful. We have to time it right though. Timing is everything. Timing's always everything."

~ 0 ~

Little Peggy Dayton came running out of the barn in her dungarees and flannel shirt. She had been grooming her pony but had heard horse's hooves. She broke out in a smile as she ran up to Adam's horse which shied slightly at the approach of the excited child. Adam grinned to see her and dismounted, tying off his horse.

"Well, hello there! How's my girl?"

She stopped, hands on her hips and her face took on an expression of concern. "Boy, Adam, you look awful! What happened to you?"

Adam crouched down and put one arm about her waist. "Well, I ran into something. Wasn't looking where I was going. Think I'd know better by now, wouldn't you?"

Peggy gingerly touched the bruise on his forehead. It was now slightly yellow and the hollows of his eyes were fading as well. But his head still ached a bit.

"My mother and Uncle Will said you were sick and that's why you haven't been over."

"So Uncle Will's been helping out, huh?"

"Yes." Peggy fooled with Adam's jacket collar, running a finger along the stitching of the triangular end over and over, avoiding his eyes. "Adam, are you and my mother still getting married?"

Adam didn't know what Laura had told her daughter. Had she said that the engagement was broken? Or was she waiting, feeling that Laura losing two "fathers" in two years was too much for the child. He feared that as well.

"Why are you asking me that?" Adam watched the child's face. She was obviously considering what she should say.

Peggy leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Uncle Will and my mother were kissing yesterday."

"Oh?" Adam waited.

Peggy stood back; the worst was out and now she felt free to say the rest. "Yeah, they were kissing on the mouth, not like your father kisses her on the cheek but on the mouth. Like you do."

"Does that upset you?" Adam knew that he was upset by the news although he had suspected the relationship—and deservedly so. Will had been designated by Ben to help out on the Running D, to handle what needed to be done. The ranch was becoming an overwhelming burden to Laura. "Every day," she had complained to Ben when he had ridden out a few days earlier, "There's something else that's broken or leaking or a fence is down—something. I can't do it all and Adam was such a help—but now…" Tears shimmered in her eyes and Ben had spent the rest of the day putting new shingles on the barn. Anything to stop a woman's tears. At dinner that night, as he leaned forward to rub his sore lower back, Ben asked Will to ride over and help Mrs. Dayton with the ranch. The foreman took care of the cattle matters but the house and barn, well, they were falling apart. Will readily acquiesced and both Hoss and Joe raised their brows and looked at one another and then at Adam who avoided everyone's eyes and silently ate his dinner.

"Yes," Peggy said, turning slightly back and forth. "I like Uncle Will but he's been coming to dinner every night like you used to and…"

Adam heard the front door open behind him and Peggy called out to her mother that Adam was there.

"Yes, I can see. Peggy, go in the house. I want to talk to Adam."

Adam stood up. Laura, on the porch, faced him, her arms crossed, her face stern.

"Can Adam stay for dinner?" Peggy asked hopefully.

"We'll see, Peggy. Now go straighten up your room."

"But can he?" Peggy wanted a distinct answer. 'We'll see' always meant, No.

"Peggy, go now. Do as I said."

"Go ahead, Peggy," Adam said, giving her a slight push. "I don't know that I can stay for dinner; I have quite a bit to do."

Peggy, ran to the house, pausing only to look at her mother and again at Adam. Then she went inside and once the door was closed, Laura stepped down and confronted Adam.

"Why are you here, Adam? I should think you'd be too ashamed to show up."

In the sunlight, her blonde hair down, Adam had to admit that Laura was lovely. He knew what he was losing, a beautiful wife and a daughter he already loved. And there was no one to blame but himself.

"Laura, we both know what happened and I've apologized. I just stopped by to see Peggy."

"I think it's best you just stay away. Peggy doesn't need any more pain in her life. And neither do I. Now if you don't mind…"

Adam smiled. "I guess that means I'm not invited to dinner." Laura said nothing. "Well, I suppose this is it, then. I do still love you, Laura, and want all the best for you and if that means you and Will settle down together then I hope that…"

"Who told you that?" Laura's face clearly showed her anger.

"Well…" Adam decided not to reveal what Peggy had said about their kissing. "He is over here every day—at least that's what he says."

"Yes, he's helping. I am basically alone in running this ranch, you know, and Will has been kind enough to be of assistance."

Adam untied his horse and mounted. "Yes, I'm sure Will provides a great deal of assistance. It's fortunate he's willing to take up where I left off." Adam turned his horse's head and tipped his hat before he rode away, kicking his horse into a canter.

Laura watched him ride away. "Smug! So smug! I should have slapped him!"

~ 0 ~

 _The well-dressed, nice-looking man rode up to the shabbiest whorehouse on the outskirts of Virginia City. The man at the front door, obviously, the muscle of the establishment, reeked of sweat and cheap whiskey. But he let the well-dressed man pass and once in the parlor, a blowsy, poorly-dressed woman approached him. She assessed him. He was not the usual customer but then, well, some men had gutter tastes but as long as they paid, what they did was their business._

 _"_ _Welcome to the Lucky Ranch. Want to see my stable? I got one for every taste. Got some Chinese girls too. I even got some virgins if you're interested but they're pricey."_

 _The man smiled at the ridiculous premise. "I want the ugliest whore you have."_

 _The woman was shocked—but only for a second. "I got one uglier than homemade soap."_

 _"_ _She's the one then."_

 _The woman laughed. "Room 5—a buck and a half. Now."_

 _The man smiled again and pulled the money out of his pocket. "Keep the change," he said as he handed over two silver dollars._

 _The woman watched while the man elegantly went up the stairs. Then she shrugged her shoulders and shook the coins in her hand. The loveliest sound was the clinking of silver on silver._

 _"_ _Now," the well-dressed man said to the prostitute in her darkened, shabby room. He expected to see rats creeping along the walls and cobwebs in the corners. "Can you write?" The madam had been right—this whore was ugly. She was exceedingly thin, missing a few teeth and it wasn't due to age as she was about 18. And her eyes were too large for her face. Her chin was barely existent._

 _"_ _Yeah, I can write. But what is it you want?" the young woman said. "You ain't the usual type for this place."_

 _He sat down in the prostitute's shabby room. On a small table beside the chair, he placed a sheet of paper and an ink bottle._

 _"_ _Can you write? Spell?"_

 _"_ _A little if the words ain't too hard. Why?"_

 _"_ _I want you to write a note for me."_

 _"_ _Why? Don't you know how to write?" The woman laughed, thinking it was a clever joke, but the man sat silently. Her humor drained away. He frightened her. "What then? What after I write your note?"_

 _"_ _That's it. Just write me a note—a short letter, and then I'm gone" He reached into his pocket and slapped three silver dollars on the table._

 _"_ _Hell," she said, grinning, "for three dollars I'd write the Declaration of 'dependence!" She pulled a wobbly chair up to the table and dipped the pen in the ink. "What you want me to write?"_

 _He grinned. "First, whose blue abandoned house is on the west side of town? How would someone know that's the one to meet at?"_

 _"_ _I think you want the old Harold place. He done died 'bout two years past and then his wife done went back east to family. Such a shame 'cause she was a nice one. You know how sometimes…"_

 _"_ _I can't abide a chatty whore. If I were you, I'd shut my mouth before someone does it for you. Now—just write down what I say. Dearest Adam…I need…to see…you…desperately. D..e..s..p…"_

 _The woman looked at him oddly. Why would he be writing a note to another man? But she had been paid to write so she continued, the pen scratching on the vellum…_

 _Once the man finished dictating the letter and had spelled every word over two syllables for her, he blew on the paper to dry all the ink, folded it and placed it in his jacket's inside pocket._

 _"_ _Thank you very much for your help. You have been invaluable to me." He stood up and reached in his pocket, took out another dollar and slapped it on the table. "For you with my thanks." And then as she reached for the money, much to her surprise, she felt a thin metal strand tautly wrap about her neck and be pulled, one end over the other. She tried to scream but couldn't. She struggled uselessly, attempting to claw the face that was behind her but ended up flailing until she finally succumbed and sagged. Then the man released the wire and she and it fell to the floor. He smoothed his jacket and calmly walked down the stairs and out the front door, nodding to the man who stood sentinel. Things had gone well and just as he had planned. Adam Cartwright had fucked with the wrong person._

 _And now it was all timing as he had said to Debrow. And so far, everything was like clockwork—every second ticking off as he had planned._

Anna paced. She tried to calm her breathing. It was Thursday and although she feared Adam wouldn't come to her—was sure he wouldn't—she still hoped. Anna had sent Wi Song out to watch for Adam Cartwright's big red horse. All her senses were on edge, willing to hear Wi Song's voice saying, "Mistah Adam—he come now riding up street!"

Earlier that day, Anna and Lady Bourbon had argued.

"Now you listen here, Missy," Lady Bourbon had said, "You can't turn down a customer—I'm losin' money every time you send a man away and you do too; you don't get a cut and I'll take more from your other patrons to make up for it. Now get out into the parlor and show your tits."

"Please—just tonight. Just tonight. If he doesn't show tonight…I'll know I've lost a…regular." Anna felt close to tears. The thought of losing Adam—forever—was too painful to consider.

"Just tonight. After this, I want you to take any man who wants you and can pay. Understand?" Anna nodded. "By the way, do you know how that photograph thing came out?" Anna shook her head no, and Lady Bourbon considered that the $500.00 wasn't enough to put up with a love-struck, heart-broken whore—no matter how valuable she was.

In her room, Anna sat, rocking herself back and forth. Despair rose in her breast. She glanced at the clock It was 9:35. Adam was usually there by 9:00, smiling an sweeping her into his arms. She could almost smell him, hear his deep voice pour over her like warm water—soothing and liquid. But he wasn't going to come that night—or any night. She had done a horrible thing and now… Then she had a thought; maybe he was still too badly hurt. That was a possibility.

Then Wi Song came flying into the room. "Missy Anna! A note come for you!" Wi Song, smiling broadly handed a folded piece of paper to Anna. "It from Mistah Adam?"

With shaking hands, Anna unfolded it and her heart rose. "Yes, yes—it's from him."

 _Anna, please pack a bag and meet me at the old Harold place on the outskirts of town at 10:00. I'll explain why I can't go to Lady Bourbon's when I see you. I want to ask you something important as I realize I love you and need you and want you to come away with me. Please don't be late as I can barely wait to see your beautiful face and to hold you in my arms._

 _Adam_

Anna crushed the note to herself. It said all the things she wanted to her. He loved her. "Wi Song, help me dress—quickly-and to pack a bag."

"Yes, Missy Anna." Wi Song smiled to see her mistress so happy after the past week of constant tears and recriminations. Finally, Missy Anna would be happy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

"I just…I don't know, Adam. I don't think I should leave right now." Ben Cartwright reluctantly placed another folded shirt in his valise open on the bedspread. "If there's going to be trouble…"

"Pa, don't worry. Hoss and I can take care of things here and you and Joe can just enjoy yourselves. And the fundraiser is for you—you can't very well not show."

Adam Cartwright sat at the end of his father's bed watching him pack. He resisted the urge to neaten the clothing, visualizing how wrinkled they would be upon unpacking but his father was a grown man and wouldn't appreciate it. Hop Sing had already been in and taken some things to press before being packed. He had a heavy flatiron from his number one uncle's laundry business and wielded it whenever one of the Cartwrights tried to slip out for any social occasion with a wrinkled collar or string tie. And if the dress pants did not have a sharp crease down the front of each leg, Hop Sing would follow the offender out, chastising loudly. "It written—with time and patience, mulberry leaf become a silk gown." Then, the offending Cartwright would have to return to the house and hand the garment, whatever it may be, to Hop Sing while the others waited patiently in the wagon. Many a time Hoss had to stand in the kitchen in his long-johns while Hop Sing assiduously pressed his pants.

"I keep thinking there's going to be more trouble. I had the distinct impression our visitor wasn't through with us. So…"

Ben had argued with his sons at dinner. He had told them he was going to end his campaign. After all, he had been reluctant to run for governor anyway—it was the town council that had convinced him he was the best man to represent Nevada and its interests. Ben was a large landowner, they said, and even if he was disinclined to fight for the common man, for the poor homesteader and the beleaguered miner, he should at least run to protect his own interests.

There was talk—incendiary talk-of more land being given back to the Indians and it was in the best interest of all who lived in the southwest to have representation. And so many new business ventures had started and regulations were needed. And what about all the marginal businesses such as brothels and liquor running? Think of all the taxes that could be slapped on them? Nevada needed him and not someone from the east who had traveled out west only to help his fellow carpetbaggers because that's all they were—politicians who had failed elsewhere!

So Ben had accepted and was determined to represent the common man, to work for them and not his own interests. Any threats against Ben would have worked to make him more determined to run but someone was now threatening his family, his son and if he didn't quit, he might harm all of them. Ben couldn't take that chance.

But all his sons, particularly Adam, by the time Hop Sing served dessert, had convinced Ben that he shouldn't bow-out; that would be a victory for those who opposed him. Besides, Joe had said, maybe he wouldn't win anyway. That was what was needed, a bit of levity, and Ben finally smiled and even chuckled; he would continue.

Both Ben and Adam looked to a noise at the bedroom door. Joe and Hoss stood there, Hoss holding a note. Hoss; brow was furrowed.

"Adam, this done come for you." He held out the folded note. Adam saw that his name was written in an childish hand on the outside, the letters carefully formed but lacking elegance of a woman educated in cursive.

"Who brought it?" Adam stood up, took the note but waited to open it.

"We don't know," Joe said. "We heard a knock but when we opened the door, I stepped out and no one was there-all I could hear was a rider leaving—quickly. Then Hoss saw the note. It's got your name on it."

Ben stepped closer to Adam. "Who's it from?" He saw the name on the front and waited, hoping Adam would unfold it.

Adam didn't want to read it in front of his family but saw no other option that wouldn't be misinterpreted as secrecy—not with all that had happened; they all had the unknown blackmailer on their minds. He opened the note, avoiding Hoss's view of it. Hoss had craned his neck to see but Adam had turned slightly to avoid his and his father's eyes. Adam quickly scanned it. It was written in the same unsophisticated hand as the address. He knew that Anna had only the rudiments of education and he had never seen anything she had written so Adam had no doubt it was from her as the signature indicated. He quickly folded the note and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Is it from…" Ben didn't finish the question.

"No, it's not a blackmail note or anything threatening. But I need to go out—I won't be more than two hours."

~ 0 ~

The night was cold and it was only September. As Adam rode at a canter—it was too dark to gallop to Virginia City—he considered the courier. Just who had delivered the note? Was he walking into a trap? But what kind of trap? His father would quit campaigning if his eldest son was killed but there were easier ways to accomplish that. There was no need for a convoluted plan just to shoot him down. Adam considered he could be killed as he rode alone across the Ponderosa or picked off with a rifle as he crossed the front yard. It wouldn't require too much planning.

He also wonderedwhat Anna could want, why she needed to see him "desperately". In the note, she had stated she was leaving, packed and ready, but first she wanted to make amends. She also wanted to tell him who had hired the photographer but needed to reveal the name in person—it was too dangerous to put in a note. And she apologized again for what she had done.

Adam had been disinclined to see Anna—not because she had betrayed him, used him for her own monetary gain although that was reason enough in itself, but because he wasn't sure how he felt about her anymore. What if when he saw her, he lost all resolve and reached for her, pulling her to him, smelling her rosewater scent and feeling her smooth skin. If he did so, Adam knew wouldn't be able to refuse her mouth or resist laying her down or pressing her against the wall and lifting her skirts to satisfy his raging lust for such beauty.

And he could envision how she would look after their lovemaking, her face soft, her eyes, sleepy and the gentle smile about her lips. Adam pulled up his horse. The animal tossed its head; the beast knew the barn wasn't nearby and that the night was dark and cold. Adam reconsidered. He should have nothing to do with her—nothing. Anna was bad news, could bring him nothing but trouble. But then, she was lovely and welcoming and held such delights that he felt himself groan with desire. He had to see her, if for no other reason than to determine how he actually felt about "the bitch"—the duplicitous, self-serving whore. Besides, he decided, Anna more than likely was "desperate" for money more than anything else. Adam decided he would give it to her if it meant that she would get as far away from Virginia City and him as she could. He would gladly pay for that. He kicked his horse and they continued on their way to Jedidiah Harold's deserted blue house on the outskirts of town.

There was no discernible moon except for a slight glow through the clouds; even the stars seemed to have deserted the sky. Adam cautiously walked his horse up to the house. He could see a glow through the lace curtains of front window; there seemed to be a lit lamp in a back room. Why Anna would be sitting in the back of the house waiting his arrival puzzled Adam for only a few seconds. She may be waiting for him in one of the bedroom, sprawled naked on the best bed left in the house. She might very well hope to seduce him in order to ask for a great deal of money.

As he dismounted, Adam determined he would give Anna nothing—not even forgiveness should she ask. He might even make a comment about her not being worth the money he had paid to use her cunt on occasion. But it was yet to be seen, he decided, whether or not she would deserve insults.

He tied off his horse who snuffled with displeasure. And as Adam tried the door handle, he heard someone ride away in the direction of town. At least they're going, Adam thought, and not staying. But still, who else had been here? Perhaps Anna's note had been a mere ruse to get him to the house. He unholstered his gun, and holding it ready, Adam made his way around the outside of the house, keeping the walls to his back. He found no one else and it was too dark to look for footprints or tracks, fresh ones or not.

Still holding his gun, Adam considered if it should be safe to enter the house even if there was another photographer waiting inside or a reporter from the local newspaper. Adam slowly opened the front door and stepped into the darkened parlor. He could make out a lamp on a nearby table and struck a match and lit the wick. The room glowed in the soft light. It looked filled with ghosts due to the sheets tossed over the furniture to prevent dust from settling into the fabric.

Holding the lamp aloft, Adam checked the kitchen for anyone. It was empty. He then went back into the parlor and called out, "Anna."

A sound came from the back of the house where the light emanated. Adam cautiously walked to the back, glancing about him in case someone stepped out of the darkness of another room. He stood in the doorway of the back room and as he had supposed, Anna lay on the bed but she was lying oddly and fully clothed. The lamp in the room was too dim to see many details so Adam held up the lamp he had brought into the room. Anna's mouth was gagged, her hair mussed from struggling, and her arms were tied behind her. Her ankles were also bound, the rope then tied to the brass footboard. She was struggling against her bonds.

Adam quickly glanced around him but saw no one and heard no one except Anna's muffled voice. Her eyes pleaded with him. Adam slipped his gun back its holster, stepped further into the room and sat the lamp on a bureau. He went to Anna and pulled the gag down.

"Adam" she gasped, "get out. Get out now." Suddenly her eyes went wide as she looked over his shoulder.

Adam turned as a shadow fell across the bed; someone was behind him. It was the big man with the pitted face, DeBrow, but before Adam could reach for his gun, the man swung and Adam felt a heavy arm slam across his shoulders and knock him off his feet; it felt as if a load of stacked logs had rolled onto him. He fell heavily onto the bed over Anna's body, his lungs emptied by the force of the blow. Before he could recover his breath, Adam felt himself dragged up and the same thick arm that had felled him now wrapped across his throat under his chin, preventing him from breathing. His lungs burned, his eyes felt a fire behind them and panic rose in him; he was going to die. Adam tried to pull the arm away but couldn't. He tried to jab the huge body holding him with his elbow but it made no difference. Adam could hear Anna screaming, begging for his life, pleading with the man to let him go but before the darkness overwhelmed him, before his body quit for lack of air, Adam considered that Anna had again sold him out—but this time, she lost too. And Adam considered himself a fool for not having tossed Anna's note—unread-into the fireplace and watching it burn.

~ 0 ~

Adam's first thought was that he wasn't dead. But he felt worse than dead. His neck ached, his throat ached, his shoulders ached and his head throbbed. He struggled to sit up and looked around while he gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered how long he had been unconscious. He grabbed the footboard to help himself stand and looked down at Anna on the bed. The gag was gone and so were the bindings and she lay still.

"Anna," Adam said as he moved toward her. She didn't move and Adam reached for her arm. Then he saw the hole in her breast. She had been shot—from point blank considered the gunpowder at the edges of the wound, and his own gun lay next to her. He picked it up and smelled it; it had been fired. He turned toward a voice behind him.

"I was told there was a commotion from here but I didn't expect it to be you." Deputy Clem Foster stood in the doorway, a gun pointed at Adam. "When I saw your horse outside, the Ponderosa brand on it, I hoped someone had stolen it but I guess not. Now put down your gun and put up your hands."

"What? You can't think that I…"

"It doesn't matter what I think, it's what I'm required to do. All I know is that you're standing over what looks like a dead woman—and you're holding a gun. Now put it down nice and easy, Adam. I don't want to have to shoot you so I'd appreciate it if you'd just comply and not give me any trouble."

Considering all things, Adam gently laid his gun down beside Anna's body. Clem moved beside the bed. "Step back, Adam, and keep your hands up. Please."

Adam did so and watched as Clem checked to see if Anna was alive by pressing two fingers against her neck, attempting to feel if blood still throbbed. "She's dead. Been shot." Clem picked up the gun and held it to his nose.

"Let me save you the trouble. It's my gun and it's been fired but not by me. I'm guessing she's been shot with it but as I said, not by me. I received a note to come here and was bushwhacked. Obviously, I've been framed. How'd you know to come here?" Adam still held his hands up at shoulder-level.

Clem stuck Adam's gun in his trousers' waistband. "A man came by the office—said he heard a woman screaming, crying for help out here—a blue house, he said, and a man's raised voice. Said the house was on the outskirts. This is the first place I checked. I guess this is the place he meant."

"A man? Was he a big man with a pocked face?"

"No. A well-dressed man. Said he was a drummer and passing through. Heard the noise. Now, just turn around, Adam. I'm going to have to cuff you and take you in. I guess I'll have to wake up Roy and send him and Doc Martin out here for the body. By the way—who is she?" Clem motioned slightly with the gun toward the bed.

"Her name's Anna. She's a whore at Lady Bourbon's."

"Looks like she was getting ready to go somewhere, dressed up like that. Well, since you know who she is, I'm guessing you and she had a relationship."

"You could say that." Clem approached so Adam turned around, his hands still up. He heard Clem sheath his gun and the clink of the handcuffs. Clem reached for Adam's right arm and began to pull it back. Usually, with drunks or if the man had to ride, Clem cuffed them with their hands in front but Adam was bigger than him, more powerfully built. Clem felt he could make a good show of it if he had to fight Adam—he just didn't want to put it to a test.

As Clem gripped Adam's wrist, Adam twisted. His broke free from the deputy, raised his arm bent the elbow and slammed it into Clem's face. Blood spewed from Clem's nose and he reached for it instinctually. It gave Adam the time he needed. He drew back and punched Clem in the abdomen, Clem dropped to his knees, in the perfect position for Adam to grip his hands together and bring them down on the back of Clem's neck. Clem fell flat onto the floor and lay still.

"Sorry, Clem," Adam said as he recovered his breath. "You're gonna have a helluva fuckin' headache when you wake up." Adam took his gun from Clem and also took Clem's gun. Then he headed to the front door. Adam saw Anna's valise sitting just inside. He paused. There was something sad about it and for the first time, Adam felt a catch in his throat—Anna was dead. That bastard had killed her, shot her as she was bound. How terrified she must have been as he pressed the gun against her and she knew all help was gone.

No longer would he be able to press Anna against him, to feel the smooth, soft skin of her thigh or bury his head between her breasts. Her smile and he voice were now gone forever and no longer would her arms open, welcoming him into her embrace. "Oh, Anna."

DeBrow had killed her. DeBrow had robbed him of Anna. And Adam would make him pay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

Although Clem Foster was out cold, he wouldn't be for more than a few minutes. Adam calculated the time passed since he had arrived at the house. Whoever was behind the whole scenario had timed it well. He was certain it was the well-dressed visitor at the Ponderosa and was certain it was he who had ridden off when Adam had arrived at the house. It would have taken him maybe seven or eight minutes to reach the sheriff's office and inform Clem of the disturbance. Another eight or nine minutes for Clem to secure the office, mount up and ride out to the Harold's house. And in the interim, Adam had been beaten and choked to unconsciousness—released from the deathly grip before he was dead. Adam figured he had been out for maybe three or four minutes. Just long enough to recover his sensibility and to see that Anna had been killed—shot with his gun.

Adam felt he should do something more for Anna but she was dead—there was no helping her now- and he wanted to not only avenge her, but himself as well. Once Clem made it back to town, once he woke Sheriff Coffee, Adam would be a wanted man for no other reason than that he had assaulted a law officer. He had to find DeBrow and make him pay. And if he found the other man as well, that would be added pleasure.

Adam mounted his horse and rode into town; he had to have something to go on, he knew he couldn't just ride in the direction he had heard the horse go. The man definitely came into town—Clem Foster had told him that. Maybe, just maybe the man had been staying in town and if he had, it was probably at the Imperial House. Adam rode up to the hotel and hitched his horse, looking about. It was late by now, probably about 10:00 or 10:30 and not many people were on the sidewalks, mainly cowhands looking to pass the lonely time in a saloon. The only other amusement offered was at Piper's Opera House. A magician as performing there. The billboard promoted that he could cut a woman in half—and she lived.

The desk clerk was sitting behind the counter reading a newspaper. He looked up as Adam leaned on the counter and rapped with his knuckles.

"Evenin', Adam," he said, smiling and folding his paper. "What can I do for you? Don't want a room, do you?"

"No, Hank, just some information." Adam glanced at his hand and saw some dried blood—Clem's. He tried unsuccessfully to rub it all off on his trousers "Did you have a man—maybe two—staying here last night or even longer? One was tall, well-dressed, well-spoken and may have had a big man with him-tall fellow with a pocked face."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did. That'd be Mr. Jones. He checked in last night, and the big fellow was called…." Hank furrowed his brow in concentration.

"DeBrow?" Adam offered.

"Yeah, that was it. DeBrow. None too friendly. Don't think he said nary a word—just grunts. But Mr. Jones checked out about fifteen minutes ago—big hurry to leave town."

"DeBrow leave with him?"

"Nope. Before he left, Jones asked for an envelope, put something in it—turned his back so I couldn't see what—secured it with one of our seals and said to give it to DeBrow when he comes in and tell 'im the bill was paid. Both of 'em. Don't know what he meant by that."

"DeBrow hasn't come in yet then."

"Nope. Not yet. Still got the envelope. I think it's filled with bills. That's what it feels like to me—a thick stack of bills. I imagine he'll be here soon."

"More than likely. I think I'm going to sit here and wait, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Take a load off. I got some coffee in the back room if you want some."

"Thanks, Hank. I'd like a cup."

Hank went into the small room behind the counter and in less than a minute, came back and handed Adam a white mug of hot coffee. Adam thanked him and then went to a chair in the corner but before he sat, he turned down the wick of the nearby floor lamp. Hank looked up as Adam sat down and the room dimmed. "I have a headache," Adam said as way of explanation and it wasn't a lie. Hank went back to his paper. Adam settled down but slipped his gun from his holster and placed it on his lap, one hand resting gently on it. The other held his coffee. He sipped it while listening to the tick of the wall clock, the only sound in the room except for the sound when Hank straightened out the newspaper or turned a page. Adam leaned back slightly to rest his head, hoping the painful throbbing would ease somewhat but he was too tense, too alert to let the agonized muscles relax. So he waited, not knowing what to expect.

Perhaps DeBrow didn't know about the money and even if he did, decided not to pick it up, to just slip out of town, Adam considered. If so, he was wasting his time sitting there in the hotel lobby while both men rode away. But no, Adam thought, Debrow enjoyed what he did, seemed to relish inflicting pain on others but nevertheless, he did it for money. He wouldn't leave without being paid. And since the well-dressed man had left, it must mean that he and DeBrow had broken up their partnership. But maybe that was for safety. Since they had been seen together, the law would be looking for two men, not one.

Adam shifted in the chair. DeBrow might be in a saloon or with a whore. He may not return to the hotel until early morning. Before that, Adam knew his brothers and father would come looking for him—after all, he had said he wouldn't be more than two hours. And Roy Coffee would have found him as well.

Adam looked again at the wall clock; it was a bit past 11:00. Clem had surely come to by now and roused both Roy Coffee and Paul Martin, Adam thought. Not only had they had the time to see Anna and retrieve her body, but Clem would have told them about him and his gun and his assault on the deputy. Paul was probably examining Clem as well, tending to his nose. How long would it be before Sheriff Coffee would round up a posse? After all, he had run away and flight was always considered the act of a guilty man.

Adam became more anxious. He glanced at the clock again and tightened his grip on his gun. Hank had finished his paper and was now slumped in his chair, his head nodding as he napped; night duty was usually dull as no stages rolled in at this time of night. And then the door opened and Debrow walked in. He glanced about the room. Adam pressed himself deeper into his chair in the darkened corner.

"Hey," DeBrow said as he hit the bell. One of the two sounds startled Hank awake.

"Oh," Hank said, "evenin'. Been waitin' for you."

DeBrow became more alert. He had just spent a good amount of time in a saloon, playing cards, drinking, and sliding his hand up a saloon maid's thigh as she sat on his lap. Each time he took a liberty, she took money from his winnings and dropped it in her décolletage. But DeBrow didn't care—he considered a few pinches of her breasts and enjoying the smoothness of her thighs, worth a few dollars.

"Your friend checked out but he left you this." Hank reached under the counter and pulled out the envelope and handed it to the man. "He said to tell you both bills had been paid."

DeBrow grunted something that passed as "Thanks," and partly turned away from Hank. He slid his finger under the flap and broke the seal, opened the envelope and appeared to be thumbing through bills, counting them as he did.

"Oh," Hank added, "someone's here to see you, Mr. DeBrow."

"Me? Who?"

"Me," Adam said. He had stood as soon as DeBrow took the envelope and now was waiting—waiting to see what DeBrow would do, if he would shoot without knowing who it was in the shadows.

DeBrow stood still—frozen—his back to Adam. Then he spun toward the voice and his hand went to his gun.

For a millisecond, Adam thought about killing DeBrow and it made him feel powerful. He had his own gun out and surely, he could drop DeBrow. To see DeBrow's lifeless eyes—his eyes similar to those of a dead fish—would give Adam great satisfaction. And Anna would be avenged. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

The flash came from Adam's gun and DeBrow cried out in pain as he fell to the floor, dropping his gun to grab his knee with both hands.

"What'd you do, Adam?" Hank said. He had backed away when he saw DeBrow's face—Hank knew there would be gunplay. DeBrow was rolling on the floor in agony, both hands bloody as he held onto his knee, gritting his teeth. Adam hurried to sweep up DeBrow's six-shooter. He slapped it on the counter.

"Keep this," Adam had said. "You can give it to Sheriff Coffee when he questions you about what you saw." Adam reached down and grabbed the back of DeBrow's shirt. Adam shoved his gun against DeBrow's ear. "Get up or I'll shoot your fucking brains out through your ear. Give me a reason to do it—go ahead. Now get up."

Breathing heavily, DeBrow rose to one foot, and Adam noticed that either sweat or tears ran down his cheeks. His injured leg was loose—the knee cap had been shattered, the bullet having gone through the bone, cartilege and tendons and lodged into the front of the hotel desk. "You goddamn bastard," DeBrow growled, "I'll kill you. I swear, I'll kill you!"

"Well, that won't be for a long time. Now let's go. I'm taking you to Sheriff Coffee." Adam practically dragged DeBrow alongside him, keeping his gun barrel pressed on the back of DeBrow's neck as the man struggled against the excruciating pain that made him cry out whenever his useless foot twisted under him. Blood trailed behind them. DeBrow would drop to his good knee on occasion and Adam knew to be careful, very careful that it wasn't a ploy by DeBrow to grab his gun away. Whenever DeBrow would drop, Adam would tighten DeBrow's shirt collar, twisting it, to prevent him breathing. DeBrow tried very hard after the second time, not to fall again. Besides, he wanted to see a doctor; maybe his knee could be saved—maybe he could be saved before he bled to death.

Adam and DeBrow were almost to the sheriff's office when Roy Coffee came out into the street. Adam wasn't surprised. Someone coming out of the Bucket of Blood had seen him and DeBrow struggling to make it down the street. The man had called into the saloon and other men came to the doorway, pushing aside the swinging doors and watching curiously. One of them had hurried out, more than likely to the Sheriff's office.

"Adam, just hold it right there.," Roy Coffee said, pulling his gun.

Adam dropped DeBrow's collar and stepping back, he dropped his gun out of DeBrow's reach and held his hands out. Debrow moaned in the street, his bloody hands covered in dirt as he gripped his leg.

"I have a prisoner for you," Adam said. "This man killed the woman in the Harold house. His name's DeBrow. He murdered her with my gun. I told Clem."

"Well, I appreciate that, Adam, and I'll look into it. But actually, I got two prisoners. Now if you'll just help this man—DeBrow—along, I'm gonna have to lock up both of you and sort the facts later. And looks like Doc Martin's gonna have a busy night ahead of him."

"Whatever you say, Roy." Adam reached down and roughly grabbed up DeBrow who winced in pain. "Let's go," Adam said to DeBrow, and half supporting him, roughly dragged DeBrow the rest of the way to Sheriff Coffee's jail.


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue**

Adam welcomed sleep even if it was in a jail cell on a lumpy cot. In the morning, his head felt better and the cup of coffee Roy gave him lifted the fog that had descended over his memory. Anna was dead, had been shot with his gun and he was under suspicion. He had shot DeBrow in the knee but Hank would back up his self-defense claim for that crime. And the well-dressed man—Mr. Jones—was gone, had left town to places unknown according to what Roy said that morning as he stood outside the cell congenially sharing the morning cup of coffee.

"DeBrow hasn't confessed to anything, I guess," Adam said as he pulled apart a still-warm biscuit delivered from the little restaurant down the street.

"He's still out from all the laudanum Paul gave him. Seems that it took a bit for Paul to try to stop the bleeding. He said it doesn't look good inside the knee either—you sorta blew the whole joint apart."

Adam had no comment and Roy straightened himself up and said something about having to get out to do the follow-up paper work and get statements from Lady Bourbon's employees.

"You know she was a whore, right?" Roy asked. He was certain he knew Adam's answer but asked it anyway.

"Yes, I know and you'll find that I saw her on a regular basis. But I didn't kill her. Actually, I…" Adam remembered what Hiram Wood, the family lawyer, had stated when he visited before the sun even rose, much to Roy's displeasure—"Don't say anything, don't admit to anything and whatever you do, don't talk about the photograph incident your father told me about. It could be construed as motive." But Adam felt he needed to defend Anna in some way, to make her more than just a common whore to Roy.

"I cared for her—a great deal. She was…a singular woman." Adam wanted Roy to know Anna was a woman to be cherished—and to be mourned. Hiram Wood may malign the dead woman in order to show others may have wanted her dead, but not he. Adam was determined never to do so.

And as Adam had known, last night his father and two brothers had shown up looking for him when he hadn't returned within three hours. Finding their older brother was in jail, Hoss and Joe wanted to stay and keep their brother company. They knew if they were locked up in a cell, they would be grateful for companionship—even if it was on the other side of the bars, but Adam requested they leave; he wanted to close his eyes and not think about anything and allow his headache to subside. Besides, it sounded as if a swarm of bees were buzzing inside his ears. Adam considered the sound preferable to the ringing that had driven him to distraction with the concussion.

Joe and Hoss had gone to wait outside leaving their father to deal with Sheriff Coffee who had just returned from Paul Martin's surgery only to find an infuriated Ben Cartwright pacing. Adam could hear them through the open outer door to the cells.

"I'm telling you, Ben, he's been arrested on suspicion of murder—there is no bail for that."

"But you can't believe Adam killed that woman!"

"It doesn't matter what I believe. According to Clem, he caught Adam leaning over the woman with his gun-it looks like she's been shot dead with Adam's gun since it was fired. Paul will provide that evidence when he removes the slug so for now, I have to keep him. But if nothing else, Adam assaulted Clem. Near broke his nose. And Adam ran. Now we both know that's almost an admission of guilt right there."

"Never mind all that for the moment-Adam's ill. He'd be much better off at home."

"While I can't argue that, soon as Doc Martin's finished with the other prisoner, keeping him from bleeding to death, he'll be over here to tend to Adam. You got nothing to worry about there. Adam'll get the medical attention he needs."

"You aren't concerned about both men being in the same jail?"

"I'm not going to put them in the same cell—won't even be next to each other. Besides, it'll be a while before I can lock up that DeBrow; he needs Doc's attention so Clem's staying there to keep guard on DeBrow; he's cuffed to a bed in the surgery. You don't need to worry yourself about Adam. Now go home and get some sleep."

Ben huffed in frustration. "Is it all right with you," he said sarcastically, "if I see Adam before I leave."

"Just leave your gun with me," Roy said and Ben, with a look of disgust, pulled out his gun and placed it on Roy's desk."

"Thank you, Ben," Roy said.

"You can take your thanks along with that gun and sho…" Ben looked at Roy who rocked back on his heels looking amused at his old friend's expense. Ben shook his head and went to the back to see his son.

~ 0 ~

In compliance with Dr. Martin's recommendation, Adam was allowed to recover at the Ponderosa.

 _"_ _With his concussion little more than a week ago, and then this, well, I think it would be best if he was at home. Right now, Adam doesn't need to worry about anything else but getting better."_

So Adam lay in his own bed and slept on and off. When he slept, he was bothered by dreams—dreams of Anna, disturbing dreams of her in tears and reaching out for him or even worse, a recurring dream of making love to Anna, of feeling the warmth of her mouth, the yielding of her flesh to him and then she would be gone and he was alone in a bed, his arms aching with emptiness. And his heart ached as well with ineffable sadness. When Adam was awake, he often had visitors who, without meaning to, reminded him of his sins, of how he injured people unintentionally. Laura Dayton and Peggy visited and brought cookies. He politely nibbled on one as Peggy excitedly told him that she helped make them. And when was he going to be well enough to come to dinner again? Uncle Will was coming by, Peggy added, and said he was eating Adam's servings for him so they wouldn't go to waste. Adam said that was a good idea but Laura avoided his eyes.

Hoss and Joe often came up to see him, keeping him apprised of all that was going on and when Hoss told him that they were burying Anna the next afternoon, Adam insisted on going.

"Adam, I don't think you should," Ben said as Adam finished dressing, tying his string tie. "Paul's orders were that you stay in bed for at least a week, take it easy for the two after that-and besides, it wouldn't look proper for you to go even if Roy gave his permission-which he hasn't. I can tell you with certainty that none of her other…patrons will be there."

"I'm sure they won't be," Adam said, slipping on his black jacket and adjusting the shirt cuffs that had caught inside the sleeve. "All the more reason I should be there."

"But I promised Roy that I would keep you on the ranch. You're basically under arrest and I'm the warden. If I break the conditions of our agreement, well, Roy just might arrest us both and toss our asses in jail. He'd probably enjoy that!"

A smile flickered across Adam's mouth. Ben finally talked Adam into letting him go along; at least it would "appear" as if Adam was under supervised release.

The day was cold, the air was crisp and Adam kept feeling the wind whip up from behind them as he stood a distance from the graveside holding his hat in his hands. He was the only one in attendance who didn't work for Lady Bourbon. Ben Cartwright stood outside the wrought iron fence that surrounded the graveyard. Anna had to be buried a distance from the prominent citizens' graves, closest to the unpopulated part of town. Two hired men from the undertaker's office leaned on their shovels a respectable distance away, waiting to fill in the grave.

"Is anyone else expected?" The undertaker asked. He stood at the head of the grave, a Bible clasped in his hands.

Lady Bourbon looked at Adam and remained silent for a few more moments. "No, Mr. Hamer, I think everyone who might attend is here. You can start."

Lady Bourbon stood stoically but the other whores who had worked with Anna wept openly. Even Big Saul sobbed as the undertaker went through a modified burial service. Wi Song threw herself on the ground and tore at her hair crying, "Missy Anna! Missy Anna, no die! Missy Ann!" Finally, Adam approached and lifted Wi Song up. The young girl clung to him, sobbing; he held her but could think of no comforting words to say. She looked up at him, the tears streaming down her round, youthful cheeks.

"Missy Anna love you! Her say she marry you one day. Missy Anna love you much!"

The words shot through Adam. She loved him. Anna had loved him. He remembered the last thing she had said to him-"Get out. Get out now!" In the end, Anna had tried to save him—not herself.

After the ceremony, the undertaker tipped his hat to Lady Bourbon and left, signaling to the gravediggers while to crying women left, one of them pulling Wi Song next to her, slipping a protective arm about the girl's narrow shoulders. As Lady Bourbon passed Adam, she paused for a moment. He looked into her face, not knowing what to expect.

"You're one cold-hearted bastard, Cartwright. I don't understand why Anna loved you but she did. But then she was young and a fool for such a handsome face. I hope you rot in hell since you may not have shot 'er but you killed her all the same." She raised her head and walked out through the gate of the graveyard.

Adam continued to stand and watch while the grave was filled. Each shovel-full that was carelessly tossed onto the casket reminded him that one day he too would be under a mound of dirt—soon forgotten and perhaps unloved. Time would tell.

Later that day, as Adam sat in his bedroom, he realized how little he had known about Anna despite the many times they laid together, despite the times she kissed his cheeks, his mouth, his chest. She adored him and yet he never asked her about her life, about her thoughts, about anything. Her actual first name was Marianna and her last name was Stewart. He had seen it on the inexpensive headstone that was in the gravediggers' wagon to later be placed to mark the grave. And she had been 22 years old—only 22. After the service, Adam had spoken to the undertaker and told him to order a granite headstone for Marianna Stewart—he'd pay. "And send to New England for it—get the best," Adam had demanded.

In the falling darkness of the day, Adam sat morosely in his bedroom, unaware of the aroma of dinner filling the house, wafting up the stairs. He started at the knock on his bedroom door. It opened and his father stood half in, half out, one hand resting on the doorknob.

"Feel like coming down for dinner? I'll be glad to bring something up but thought you might enjoy the company."

"I'm not very hungry. Maybe I'll eat something later."

"Funerals do that sometimes—take away our appetites."

"You want to hear something that puts me in a bad light? I never knew Anna's full name—never knew her surname, even how old she was. I don't know if she had a favorite poem, a favorite color, what she loved to do—nothing. Yet I felt closer to her than I ever did to Laura. I can't understand that."

"That's just the way things are, Adam."

Adam grinned sardonically. "Yeah, I suppose they are. No reason to them."

"Why don't you come on downstairs. When you see the food, smell it, your appetite'll return."

"All right. Give me a minute." His father smiled and left.

Adam sat thinking a few moments more. Then he slowly went downstairs.

A few days later, Clem came out to the Ponderosa with news. DeBrow had killed himself at night, smashed his own head repeatedly against the brick wall in the jail cell. At least that was how they figured it since there was blood, hair and skin left on the bricks and he lay on the floor. Dr. Martin said DeBrow's brain bled and caused his death. Although no one really knew the reason why he killed himself, Roy Coffee felt that DeBrow did it because he could no longer live with his guilt. Adam knew better; DeBrow felt no guilt. It was because Dr. Martin had told him that he would have a useless leg from then on, would have to use a cane and even then, walking would be difficult because he'd have to drag his game leg after him. DeBrow wouldn't have been able to exist that way so he just decided to end it. But Adam kept that opinion to himself.

And as for Adam, Roy agreed there was only circumstantial evidence against him and it was obvious that he had been beaten as he had claimed and therefore, been unconscious while Anna was killed. The murder charges against Adam were dropped thanks to Hiram Wood who had ridden to Carson City to request the case be discharged for lack of evidence. The sitting judge there had ordered the charges against Adam Cartwright be dismissed. Roy smiled as he delivered the news.

The only unresolved issue, according to Roy, was "Mr. Jones". No one knew who he really was, where he went or even from where he came. And who hired him? Roy said that although DeBrow had never admitted anything, refused to cooperate, Roy was certain, according to what Hank the night clerk had said, that DeBrow performed Mr. Jones' dirty work. And they did find an envelope on DeBrow when he was arrested that contained $500.00 in small bills. Roy had donated it to the church in DeBrow's name—a final irony.

Finally, Ben felt he was able to relax, to take a deep breath. The house was peaceful and he knew where his sons were—safely ensconced in the bedrooms, more than likely sleeping as it was late—almost 11:00 pm. Ben had voluntarily dropped out of the gubernatorial race despite his sons' protests. Ben claimed to have lost all interest. Besides he said, he wasn't a politician; his sense of right and wrong was too strong, too ingrained and he couldn't compromise what he believed in to be elected. He also realized how much of a physical strain the campaign had put on him. The Ponderosa was his only interest now, he declared, and would remain so—the Ponderosa and his family. Ben sat by the fireplace, his eyes closed, his head resting on the antimacassar, smoking his pipe, a contented man. Until Adam came down the stairs.

"Can't sleep son?" Ben reluctantly roused himself at the approaching footsteps

"I'll be able to after I tell you this."

The hair stood up on the back of Ben's neck and he felt icy. Was Adam going to confess to having killed Anna? He knew, whatever it was, it was bad news.

"I've been reconsidering my life, what I've done this past year or so, what I believe in and I've come up short. I…there's a war going on and I've spoken against it, against the Confederacy and it's beliefs but otherwise, I've done nothing, remained neutral as far as the fighting goes. Let others die but not me—I didn't take part in it. Instead, I've sat on my ass and worried about marrying a woman who didn't really love me and finding comfort in the arms of a whore. What type of man am I? Dante says the darkest hell is reserved for those who are indifferent in times of moral crises, those who remain neutral, who do nothing. That's me. I've done nothing about what is going on in this country except ignore it. Tomorrow I'm leaving to join the Union army. I have to do it. I have to redeem myself somehow—to myself."

And Ben felt the world drop out from under him because he knew that when Adam made up his mind and feeling the way he did about the war, Adam was going to go join-up.

And the next morning, after his goodbyes, he did. He rode away in a last-ditch effort to save his own soul.

~ Finis ~


End file.
